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For my own part |
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I have never had a thought |
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Which I could not set down in words with even more distinctness |
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Than that with which |
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I conceived it |
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There is however, a class of fancies |
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Of exquisite delicacy |
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Which are not thoughts |
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And to which as yet |
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I have found it |
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Absolutely impossible to adapt to language |
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These fancies arise in the soul |
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Alas how rarely |
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Only at epochs of most intense tranquility |
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When the bodily and mental health are in perfection |
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And at those mere points of time |
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Where the confines of the waking world |
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Blend with the world of dreams |
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And so I captured this fancy |
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Where all that we see or seem is but |
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A Dream Within |
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A Dream (Instrumental Interlude) |
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Interlude w/ some vocalizations til fades out |
