There are dreams; and then there are dreams. Sometimes, you are stuck in a elevator that never rises, never falls, the blasted sounds of quiet sickeningly pleasant music deafening you. A fantasy world that you refuse to leave, yet you find yourself plucked from it by your eyelids fluttering open. A fall from an unknown place that jolts you awake. A place where everything, and nothing, makes sense; nothing, and everything, is rational.

In your mind you can do anything, be anyone, be anywhere. Get lost in the smallest expanses in its recesses. Explore the most improbable of situations and pick the one that you like the best. Then you wake up to a reality that chooses your chains.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light. The chains that bind sets your limits. And though they start off suffocatingly tight, each attempt to break them loosens them. Yet man is oft tired of liberty and sooner or later that cold steel cocoon becomes a refuge, a place where everything and nothing matters.

In there, man has the peace of mind to dream.