reaching for stars not for the fame touching the fire to feel the flame non compos mentis is not thy name making use of the brain though magic might be tragic it is only madness searching for the hat to free the rabbit to show the way to the hole reach in pull out the soul waking the core which hides the key to entering the gates of sleep through the deep forest of leafless trees nesting hives of honey bees pinning wings of butterflies die on the spot burn to dust on the hot blistering concrete of wilderness it is not just a mirror on the wall but a ball inside called the eye to see it all fore the act without the actor is no curtain call