It's too bright here
There's too much light
I see too many hallucinations
Nothing is as it is
And nothing is as it should be

When will the night come
I just want to go home

I can shed no tears
Because they won't be real
The purpose, I believe in
Though I'm blinded to it
Blinded by the light and the colors
A purpose I believe in
But I don't want it

When will the night come
I just want to go home

I used to be able to intentionally slip into little controlled "depressions" for the sake of poetry.