Once a year, we go to the temple of dreams to dream.
The priests welcome us in, past a crowd of stumbling people
Sitting out in the hot sun, sweating out our sins.
Writing our prayers on strips of paper.
Lighting the sacred lamps, filled with sacred oil, and burning our prayers.
The smoke, rising to the gods.
As the sun goes down, we pass out, and we dream.
The gods tell us things, things for us and us alone.
Waking up the next morning, thirsty and hungry.
The priests usher us out the gates and welcome more pilgrims in.