A thin house in the distance

In mist and pale sunlight

Birds fly over

Dry, dusty grass

As you fall 

Awaking from a dream

The voice comes in the middle of the night

A voice without sound or words

Instructing you as you bolt from sleep

From a disturbing forgettable dream

That there is an end beyond the days

Of toys and sex and youthful longing

The wordless recognition

That the film you are in is not yours

And the director will call the shots

Until the film has run its course