Ouch! What is that bright light?
Oh, I've adjusted now, not quite so bright.
It looks like a palace, made out of glass,
But a tough one for that matter, pretty thing.
Its walls are too smooth,
Not one little groove,
That feels soft when you touch it,
Too soft to be real.
Once inside I was greatly astonished,
No one was here, I could not be admonished,
But people were every where,
But they were not.
They took me down the streets of gold,
This must have once been fortunes untold,
And into one house, just for me,
It was made of emerald.
So beautiful a room of my favorite gem,
I coughed 'cause of happiness, not 'cause of flem,
I flopped down on the couch,
It was too soft.
It was too real, too real to be true,
And then I started to get the horrible blues,
I knew it was not a real thing,
Just a figment of my imagination.