Awoken from his life-sentence sleep,
Like one dismissed from divine questioning,
Out of breath Seth was, and his skin pale,
Fervor mingled with dread; his face would tell.
His faded looks on the walls started to crawl,
Probed everywhere, as if they couldn't recall.
He rubbed his face with a trembling hand.
The sorrow hanging down by his beard,
Left it to a corner, and he faced his soul inside;
The dream he'd just had found voice in his mind:

"What you have just seen is more than a dream,
The line between fantasy and reality, it'd seem...
For twenty-three years, the same dream every night,
What is its mystery, have you ever wondered not?
The secrets in my words if you wish to solve,
Demands this lucid dream, one final rehearsal..."