They aren't real, these hills that fray Like patchwork through the clouds of grey, My footsteps trace the path alone Across the land as real as stone And over dreams as soft as clay.
The rocks made real by light of day Subconscious realms do not obey, They stand more firm than inner drone But aren't real.
I wish for just a single ray To take the falsehood hills away When clouds exhale a windy tone That steals the way my form is shown, I wail and try to find the way But I'm unreal.