The Flash by Eloy
I am locked up inside a house of solid glass;
open to every look of the one's who pass.
moments of fantasy trade with those of void;
images of repose, repress the worldly toil.
I can't tell the difference between what's real and dream.
is this the land of riches,
the path to our source?
is this the only key to unlock all doors?
or has my fantasy once again fooled me?
will the signs I see next fail to free me?
I can't tell the difference between what's real and dream.
as if I awake from the deepest sleep,
and as if the road to being seems less steep.
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