Here I am, sitting alone on my deck
in the middle of the night,
a glass of tequila in my hand,
staring at the moon
shining down through the clouds.
I'm listening to crickets
and air conditioners turning off and on,
wondering what's become of me.
What have I done with my life?
I used to have things I looked forward to,
things that I believed were really going to happen.
Nowadays, not so much.
I take a long drink from my glass
and savor the feeling as it goes to my head.
I hear thunder in the distance.
Somewhere out there a storm's a-brewing,
but it's still calm and dry here.
I am comfortable in my solitude,
at peace with the moon and the stars.
Ah, but I can tell that a hard rain's comin'.
I'm comfortable with that as well.
My dreams are dying. I can feel them slipping away.
My dreams are dying. I can feel them slipping away.
I remember other summers
with sparklers and pop bottle rockets,
watermelon and home-made ice cream
Playing softball in the front yard.
All of us together on the front porch
watching the fireworks at night.
Oh, the glorious summer nights.
Babe Ruth baseball at Memorial Park,
the smell of snow-cones and popcorn.
Camping out in the back yard
with my neighborhood friends.
Playing hide-and-seek in the dark.
Catching lightning bugs.
Telling ghost stories and dirty jokes
about things we didn't understand.
when I thought that I was grown up:
Taking my best girl to the drive-in
and not seeing much of the show.
Oh, the glorious summer nights!
(Those were different times
and I had different dreams then.
Those dreams are gone now,
and that's all right.)
My dreams are dying. I can feel them slipping away.
My dreams are dying. I can feel them slipping away.
I remember another hot summer night,
driving all over town, alone,
sometime after the rain had come and gone.
Driving, driving, driving,
not knowing where I was going.
Pools of neon color shining on the asphalt.
Steam rising from the hood of my car.
Somehow I ended up downtown.
Downtown, where everything was still alive.
Young people leaving bars and parties.
Couples holding hands, making eyes at each other.
Groups of people laughing and having a good time.
How I envy them. What am I doing here?
Why do I keep on driving? Why don't I just go home?
But something keeps pulling me on, prodding me,
drawing me onward toward the darkness;
the darkness and warmth
and sweetness of summer night.
A sickly sweet scent permeates the air, after the rain,
reminiscent of dead flowers and bubble gum.
I look but do not touch, and wonder
why any of this makes sense.
Does any of this make any sense?
(Sometimes, in the heat of passion,
we want things that we should not want.
And sometimes it's better for us
that dreams don't come true .)
My dreams are dying. I can feel them slipping away.
My dreams are dying. I can feel them slipping away.
Just driving, driving, driving,
not knowing where I'm going.
And I'll end up in some cheap motel somewhere
in the middle of nowhere, maybe Southern Utah,
with a bottle of Jack Daniels
And maybe someday I'll wake up in a dirty jail
somewhere out in Colorado, or San Francisco,
or Shanghai, or someplace like that,
and I'll realize that this has all been a dream.
Nothing but a dream. None of it was real.
And maybe, just maybe,
I'll eventually come to the conclusion
that all the hopes and dreams I hold so dear,
all of my crazy, crazy dreams
are just that.
And anything but what I can touch
in the present moment
is a dream.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily.
Life is but a dream.
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who waste these pearls of their eye.
If some dreams cease to be,
life doesn't end. It doesn't die."
Gopaldas Neeraj (Jeevan Nahi Mara Karta Hai)
⛅ La vie sans rêves:
"My dreams are dying, but it's all right.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily.
Life is but a dream."