They used to say: “you dream of what you think.”
So I thought about you to dream of you,
I poured a glass of bitter wine to drink
Myself to sleep the sleep and dream of you.
But then I looked and searched and found you not,
Instead I heard her voice and saw her face.
She said her love for me had yet to rot,
But in truth, it’s long gone to outer space.
I woke up, my little hope dashed, I wept—
“Where can I find you once again, my dear?”
If I’d known, would I have rather not slept?
For all I got were tears and not one cheer.
Or I should perish the want for your heart,
For the furthest distance sets us apart.