Standing in this painting, that it seems to be alive
It’s black but has some contrasts I can barely see it all

Don’t wake me up, is this a dream?
Don’t know anymore what’s real or not

The painting is real, the crows start to move now
But at the same time everything is paper and watercolor

Don’t know what they’re doing
They’re coming in my direction
I take the soil and cover as a blanket

But made of wood paper and I
Try to hide from them now
They stop besides me they know
I’m there now…

They start to look at me
And I see their ignis fatuous so clear
This imagery is real and I know
At the same time that it is just a dream

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