I dreamt of an orchard where the autumn leaves fall,
And the breeze that carries them away.
Where out ghosts run wild, fed to be free,
Hand in hand in the ocean’s spray.

Dreaming of the day we vanish with no trace;
The sun swells the desiccated grass,
And the smell of that fresh ocean’s air
Exhalts towards freedom at last.

Fearing the notion of inevitability;
The knowledge of having to wake up.
Promise me that: if we do what we choose,
Then we will choose to never give up,

On our disregard, as we prance through the yard.
Through the abruption my words become clear,
That our subservient minds become fundamental,
And that Utopia is all up in here.