From dream emerged my mind from sleep
To hear familiar voices creep.
Although they barely made a sound,
My psyche did the words surround.
The Troll King croaked to minion trolls:
“Be sure to cover all your tracks.
You need to prod until he rolls
And cannot find his own way back.”
Awake, in stillness there I laid
As plans for my demise were made.
I parroted the words he said,
Which echoed then outside my head:
“I promise you, we’ll never stop,
Until your soul we overtop.
It’s ours to harvest, psychic crop.
Be fortunate that’s all we lop.
“Everywhere you go today
We’re listening to all you say.
Our mission is to make you pay;
Don’t think that you can get away.”
I tried to sink back into dream,
My head with trollish words a-teem,
But still the trolls kept up their scheme,
So I rose up to meet sun’s gleam.