The loose bed sheets is the chasm we
Hide in
Underneath the bed of the white river.

Cleaning the air we can now
Feel the wind in our hair

Beyond the fan is the man sitting on the
Chair
Delivering comforts with water

The pillars are made of my legs
I stretch and stretch until I tremble, until
The temple collapses and I

Have to face the day
With vigour and a lust for learning beyond
My castle dream of prisons.