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