Subconscious dreamers of athanasia will for an eternity strive
Enclosed in their secret worlds on the periphery of the scythe
Concealed in pseudo sanctuaries from arcadia to airy castles
Reticent, elusive and precautious of revenant satanic vassals
Evanescing to an essence, from paramnesia they'll be drawn
To their idyllic realms, but where a straw man stirs in the corn
Wise minds will find their unreality to avoid the harvest's host
On the otherside of their sweven, there's a shire for the ghost
Roaming perpetually, they'll be where the reverie never stops
Lest they momentarily lag to be led to a presence in the crops
Dreamers may conjure a pool of moonbeams in a distant dale
Somewhere in their paracosms though, the reaper will prevail
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