You probably don’t think about me anymore (as spring about winter and winter about fall) But tell me in the deepest of nights do you ever wake up feeling the calling far from your sight (and sight of any man life or even meaning) do you ever start crying because the tears from miles and miles don’t let you free yourself from burning (in the same time dreams of you were cut from my heart— —the reality so painful and shiningly suicidal) but don’t worry please for the stars and the trees and the world is the beginning for you (for me the end)