How is it that I am floundering on a raging sea?
With waters as smooth as the limbs of Daphne
The only occupant tossed to-and-fro
The others, still as corpse

I have placed myself in such peril
Trusting in my own sly counsel
Navigating a path, pointless and interminable
A fool with an appetite for defeat

Am I to believe the barn swallow,
And build a home of mud instead of dreams?
Tangible, instead of that which is without form
I choose the dream and its glorious deception