It is some kind of giant house -
in Mexico, I guess.
In hills, a purple sun hangs low.
We all wear battle dress.
I bear a weapon in my hand.
We seek some evil man.
The air, it reeks of burning wood
and peaches from a can
I'm walking down long corridors.
I'm searching for my team.
A slowly ticking clock goes *snap*
I woke up from the dream.
- three quatrains in ballad meter.
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