Everything is a dream.
When I wake the sky and its stars,
my only sight, lay framing a picture of a winter night.
I float, as if on a calm river toward a painted waterfall.
Clouds lift me above the still but falling waters,
the rhythm of life flows through these veins,
and my mind is my own and my heart is my own.
When I wake the sky and its stars,
my only sight, lay framing a picture of a winter night.
I float, as if on a calm river toward a painted waterfall.
Clouds lift me above the still but falling waters,
the rhythm of life flows through these veins,
and my mind is my own and my heart is my own.
