"And maybe i'll remember you when i walk away from here...
Maybe, on through some surreal yellow afternoon coming on through your white curtains.
From this dream of ashes, to the other reality.
Somehow, someday; i don't know. "
The life is a dream; and the dreams, dreams are.
Only the death is our definitive, permanent reality.
Reality.
Maybe, somehow; in some remote time.
Somewhere.
Somehow.
.
