Illusion

Sometimes I close my eyes at night,

And dream of silver showers.

And sometimes I look beyond them,

At soft, moon petal flowers.

In a forest of pale birch trees,

Where little canaries sing.

Beside a gurgling stream,

By which fairies dance in a ring.

Drink from the river little one,

Listen to the musical sound,

Drink the sweet water.

But why don't you look around.

Those silver showers,

They lock away your fear,

But for a price,

You'll forget anything you hold dear.

Those soft moon petal flowers,

So aloof, so cold, so sweet,

They steal your still body of any warmth.

They take away the heat.

Those slender, silver birch trees,

With just a touch of red,

Have you looked at the branches?

Every single one is dead.

Those little canaries,

Have looked into their eyes?

They sing of joy,

But can't you hear the lies?

Those little fairies,

Whose dances are ever the same.

Can't you see their desperation?

Can't you see their shame?

That horrid stream

Spewing death in its wake.

This is the land of death

Its beauty: fake