The mind that pays each night and buys its breath,
Then spends that credit in a darker dream,
And keeps the current running after death,
Where each bright spark is seized by hidden scheme.
A meter ticks inside the dark wire,
The current waits and then it starts again,
Each paid breath is fuel that feeds fire,
And silence takes the rest like sudden rain.
We trade the future just to think a bit,
The next dark dream costs a far greater fee,
Yet each new answer asks a further hit,
And we remain the ones that pay and see.
So keep the current cheap and keep it near,
We buy the next new dream and we stay here.