Memories of Flowers.

Waking up for tomorrow; the dream falls down like sparkling rain,

And I'm feeling kind of empty; I find I've woken up today,

The road behind, the road of dreams, is lit with burning sunlight,

But I might as well have woken up in the middle of the night,

There is no light.

Not here is where I lay my weary head,

Not here is where I lay in bed,

Not here is the flowers dancing in my dreaming heart,

Not here is the beginning of the end of the start.

I've fallen down, a plenty of hundred times,

And the bruises fade away; although I'm never whole inside,

The road ahead is filled with pain and broken stones that hurt my feet,

So I decide I'm going to walk it in my sleep,

Where I feel no pain.

Not here is where I lay my weary head,

Not here is where I lay in bed,

Not here is the flowers dying in my dreaming heart,

Not here is the beginning of the end of the start.

Though I try, I cannot hide from this endless suffering,

Though I sleep, I cannot live from this endless suffering,

And though I die, I cannot run away from your suffering,

And though I lie, I cannot create a dream around your suffering.

And make it go away.

Not here is where I lay my weary head,

Not here is where I lay in bed,

Not here is the memory of the flowers in my heart,

Not here is the beginning of the end of the start.

Has it flown away?