On the edge of dreams. 
Hidden in the jungle of Id. 
Lies a power, 
   a power of darkness. 
The hot dry desert helps it lurk.
Luring those with deep internal screams. 
 
Oh hot temptresses, 
   using guile and charm. 
Their bodies bent and twisted in exotic sweat. 
Hidden faces in calming shadows. 
Promising, 
   hot spicy sex, 
      without harm. 
 
The sirens of modern times. 
We hear the call, 
   and lash our egos with reason. 
Feeling society's anger and hidden fear, 
   needing yet punishing it's own crimes. 
 
So wipe your mind clean,
   stay busy, 
       f0r the hands of the idol are his workshop.

Chant,  
   walk the labyrinth,  
      focus, 
         and hide. 
 
The Tao says we cannot run from who we are. 
But what if we are all runners? 
What if that is our nature? 
 
Maybe we must seek a reason to run, 
   and hide on the edge of dreams. 
 
~~~niantar~~~