The silly dream had beaten me
With a big truncheon,
And in that dream, as I could see,
I wasnít catching.
For in my sleep I told a lie,
Betrayed and dreaded...
I really didnít know that I
Was so degraded.
I also saw me clench my fist
And then hit out.
It was a kind of twist of wrist,
Unstrained, soft clout.
All of a sudden, from the dream
I would arouse,
But then my eyes would grow so dim,
And I would drowse.
I didnít walk, but dragged my feet
Along the paling.
I only tried to step on it
In fear and trembling.
I fawned like crazy on the strong,
Stooped to the wayward.
I knew that all I did was wrong
but wasnít wakened.
Itís rubbish! Half asleep, I heard
My own murmurs,
And it was I, in fact, who had -
That dream. Not others.
When I came round I discerned
My murmurís meaning.
I blinked my eyes, and though it hurt
It was relieving.
My vision hovering above
Crawled on the ceiling.
Prophetic dream? So here I have
The question sneering.
It gave me shivers for I had
To take decision:
What was a lie and what was right
About my vision.
For if a dream is just a dream
I should be joyous.
But what if itís the vicious scheme
Are dreams what our days reflect?
Oh no, I doubt it!
But when I come to recollect
I get dumbfounded.
And when I hear: "Burn!" I seem
To have no spirit.
Iíll be ashamed like in the dream
Where I was timid.
Or if they say: "Sing on the beam.
And I will know that itís a dream
Which is prophetic.