I swear I lived...

Hope when you take that jump,

you don't feel the fall.

Hope when the water rises,

you built a wall.

Hope when the crowd screams out,

it's screaming your name.

Hope if everybody runs,

you choose to stay.

Don't fear the fall...

The heartbeat inside of me...

What I've learned is that the most difficult thing one can imagine, is trying to rebuild yourself, piece by piece, with no instruction book, and no clue as to where all the important bits are supposed to go. For the death of a dream can in fact serve as the vehicle that endows it with new form, with reinvigorated substance, a fresh flow of ideas, and splendidly revitalised colour. In short, the power of a certain kind of dream is such that death need not indicate finality at all but rather signify a metaphysical and metaphorical leap forward - like a bridge of silver wings stretches from the dead ashes of an unforgiving nightmare to the jewelled vision of a life started anew.