Someone said to me, "I'll come into your dream and speak it to you." I already knew. I found her in an attic where, dramatically, she leaned in to me, and she whispered these lines: "Wake and be fine. You've still got time to wake and be fine."
Embracers meet with more embracers on the street. They say, "Hold me, dear stranger. Grab on to me. We're carrying our years around us, or they're chasing down us. We're all here at the same time. Can we wake and be fine? Have we still got time to wake and be fine??"
Villians on the creep and killers in the crowd are carving apart our childhood house. Lovers in their sheets, dreaming lovers sweetly turn in their sleep all under sunbeams. Everybody's crashing, running, calling out the coming of things they kind of can see. Someone said to me, "It's just a dream. Why don't you wake up and you'll see? It's fine."
In those miles racing over endless fields of snow (you already heard, you already know), the rescue party finally lost their hearts, and then they shattered their bones, and then they died all alone. The ships all float from beaches by themselves above the hot afternoons. (Goodbye, you balloons!) Adrift above indifferent clouds. Our hearts are crashing loudly on some rock where the gulls whine, "Wake and be fine."
