I am awake early for a rehearsal. I slept about five hours and managed one of those intensely plotted dreams of which I retain only a fragment like a movie trailer of a woman in a high-waisted white Empire gown running through a pre-dawn or dusk the same drowned blue as her eyes; she is stumbling down an empty road with clouds hanging over the fields and as she runs her face begins to stream like water or ectoplasm, coiling and thickening the air behind her. The funny thing is that it wasn't a nightmare, but I don't know what it was. I would have thought one thing if she was running toward the sea, but she wasn't.
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- 1: Swimming through these long-forgotten lands
- 2: Barely even human body parts will give yourself away
- 3: The water's depths can't kill me yet
- 4: You flipped the script and you shot the plot
- 5: Once you know it's a dream, it can't hurt
- 6: And the birds flew right by and the earth made them sing
- 7: Can you see me? I'm waiting for the right time
- 8: There's nothing here but echoes
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