In the dream it's raining.
Its always raining.
Every time.
That sweet song of raindrops pitter-pattering against concrete and steel.
The city’s silence.
And in the dream there’s a man.
Lying there in the rain.
But he's not special, I don’t know how I know that but I know I do.
He’s just a man.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
And there are people in the rain.
Moving along the pavement stepping around this man.
Not stopping.
Not looking.
Not caring.
And in the dream there is a boy.
And he is looking.
He is looking at the man.
And he is looking at the world.
The world in the dream.
He is looking at the man in the world in My dream.
My world.
And he is crying.
He doesn’t know the man.
He doesn’t know me.
But he knows the world.
Hidden behind bedtime stories and brightly coloured Television.
Behind grown ups and their lies.
Behind advertising.
The world behind the *******.
My world.
And he is crying.
Because he knows the truth.
That it wont change.
A man lying in the rain in the gutter is an awful sight for a child.
But he knows it wont change a thing.
Nothing will he thinks.
But he is wrong. So wrong.
I don’t know how I know this, but I know that I do.
This boy will change the world.
Because the world one he sees is not the one he wants to.
And so he shall change it.
Lest the boy become the Man.
And so it changes.
All because of that man in the rain.
And that is my dream.
Every night.
That dream.
The dream with the rain.
Its always raining.