It is really not like a spider.
With nets to catch the tiny wind rider.
Yet it is the net that is our brain.
That journeys on a hidden plane.
To catch a dream to catch the wind.
To tell the world that we have sinned.
We feel the wind we feel elation.
Without the need for medication.
Dreams are the hidden station.
Where angels and gods rule the nation.
I think that we would rue the day.
If night dreams did not just slip away.