A rolling boiling cauldron

A rolling boiling cauldron cloud of caustic vapors and thundering thunders.. The dream man wakes and says Aha, but wherein lies the force of will? Wherein lies the stench of ill? Can I see the man of God? Can I wait for the waiting nod? And when it shall be that I shall fall, can I dash away, dash away, dash away all? Such is the nonsense of the mind of man, such is the mindness of sam I am. And in the end it will all be well, with the head firmly in hand upon the sill of the swill stall. The rhyming whimsy of the mindless mind, combines with the words of verbage not far behind. Rapidly tapping upon the keys of dread, the words fill the mind, the head. But whose words they be, is answerable only to me. Myself and I don't know, but I think there is one who sits below. Below my eyes, he sits. Below my life he comments, he quips. He grunts and hustles me to do this or that. Sometimes I listen, and sometimes I say drat. Drat you old man, why can't you give me my mind. But he responds not, for he is not kind. Time for him is a thing unseen, a wisp of wine, a glimmer of gleam. He laughs on occasion, nods perchance, but our conversation is mostly a side-eyed glance. why can't you give me my mind. But he responds not, for he is not kind. Time for him is a thing unseen, a wisp of wine, a glimmer of gleam. He laughs on occasion, nods perchance, but our conversation is mostly a side-eyed glance. [outro]