Vast hills of overwhelming emotions rim his psyche
All casting shadows in the depths where he lays at rest
Looking at the prospect of climbing out
Leaves him feeling exhausted before he even begins
Every step a struggle, the climb pure torture
Yet once high up in the surrounding hilltops the view of tomorrow is amazing
Part of the time I know exactly what I am doing. Unfortunately that part is usually when I’m sleeping. That is why I propose the building of the great machine. This invention will capture your dreams and put them into the world for all to see. It will allow you to put your imagination directly into your audiences’ heads. What is the price of such a miracle? Why only you forfeiting a small part of your soul. The soul is converted through self-doubt and torture into fairy dust to transform dreams into words on a page. Isn’t that a bargain?