Wrap your troubles in dreams
Send them all away
Put them in a bottle and
Across the seas they'll stay

Slash the golden whip, it slaps
Across the lover's sides
The earth trembles without remorse
Preparing for to die

Salty ocean waves and sprays
Come crashing to the shore
Bullies kick and kill young loves
Down on barroom floors

Now that it's time
Now that the hour hand has landed at the end
Now that it's real
Now that the dreams have given all they had to lend
I want to know do I stay or do I go
And maybe try another time

And do I really have a hand in my forgetting?

The Spirit Leaves the Body




(Now Becoming Then): When I say "This is now;" it is not now. There is no now. It appears to be a moment, but the moment is an illusion. It is and isn't. This illusion is a series of about-to-bes and has-beens which altogether seem an event. It is a construction, an invention of our minds. Its familiarity makes it invisible. There is no past or future, only now. Our lives are real dreams, just one moment, all at once, now.