By Conrad Pierce
Thought I was dead long ago, how could I know- dreams never come.
Dreams may be the reality, reality no longer real- I do not feel.
Textures yes, stories no- it's all a dream, waking to sleep.
Answers no, questions yes- puzzle or maze, both a craze.
Layers leveling, floors falling- who's that, somebody calling?
Telephones not here, never was- I swear I heard a buzz.
Maybe somebody once, but never again- deeper I descend.
Tape recorder might work, but tape itself can't mend.
End sequence.
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