When he closes his eyes,
He sees a realm of colours
That no one else has the courage
To search for.
He sees a world of giants
And mythical creatures,
In lands of roaming hills
And icy burning lakes of fire.
He watches men and women
Fighting for their life or ruling;
He sees people that don’t appear to be people
Like half goats, half horses,
All tree, all star.
He breathes creation,
Like a loving spirit on a land it built;
He bleeds colours
His blood gushing down his fingers,
Into the paper,
Trapping his soul in a world of