We all struggle with the mind duel, grappling the what if, for the what may be. Softly, our voices in the heat of flame fearing what gasses we breath turning into fire. There is a building world of rage, clawing its venom through the deep silence, cloaking the honesty of the heart: wary, we step on no ground... lest we wake. See the dreamer in his troubled sleep? fits of terror; a twitching, wretched agony. He longs to rise though he grips the sheets so tight; his knuckles white, cotton bunched -- dreadful night! I am the roar of the blessed lion! wandering in forests of the mind of every man. When I exit this maze you've meant to trap me, the wind will fall on all your empty tears.