Sleep with its dark maw shall not find me tonight,
for I shall be a wanderer in the light,
macerating body and limb in the golden sun,
fleeing with it 'til my destiny be done.
My bed shall not feel the comfort of my heat,
nor shall crisp sheets crinkle to my heart's beat;
I shall be an escapèd soul in flight,
tarrying where no eye, nor aught have me in sight.
And when morning comes, perhaps I shall again arrive
to my bedchamber where oft some pleasure I derive:
that of a dream that my sleep imbues
or of a placid awakening with all of Prism's hues.
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