Or else it was having a show in the mirror, what do I know
Maybe it was just hanging on the screens I looked at
when they shot me (not dead, not alive either)
On a number of occasions I had to take a second glance
Then I would smile and pat my soul. I was not a dream
I was not a nightmare. Maybe a nightmare, or so life has always seemed
But that does not matter now, that's for the time to lament
Because what haunts a man is more of a settler, a lifetime guest
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