Let me rise, rise above the cold, burnt-down world,
like a phoenix from my ashes.
The cold, black dust of burned-down hopes and dreams
clings to my skin,
wrapping me tightly in its icy embrace.

I am a catcher of dreams;
my hands are my nets,
my eyes, like cobwebs,
catching what I want to see, what I need to feel.
And why should you blow out my...