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.