My dreams are mice without their bread
Yearning for more, they tend to escape
My dreams won't stay within my head
I tend to see them when I wake

Of course, with others I shan't admit
That I see mushrooms in the sky
They would think it not quite fit
To see such things with no clue why

And yet, when these mice have eaten fill
I don't know where they run
Maybe the man who is mentally ill
Or into his healthier son

Like Cinderella when time's turned midnight
My dreams change form with an unnatural might...

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