What I once believed,
is ever a dream, or ever it was
or so it may seem.
I dream of touching you ever so soft,
as my memories are becoming lost.
How can one dream of what one does not believe?
A life of pity for wiping clean the past.
Your eyes are whole, they tell the truth.
How can one believe when one does not believe in thine self?
Now you remain a mystery as life becomes history.
The dream goes on.