The dreams are all I have, and treasure them I must.
Slowly they come and steadily they flow, and I must hold on to them, lest they go.
So don’t wake me to the truth that makes me, to the nightmare of reality, please don’t take me.
Allow me to slumber for a while on the embers of my dreams.
Here smiles are true and tender, and pleasant like in December.
Allow me to rest here for a while, and dwell on the figments of my imagination,
Fragments of what they say are hallucinations.
They are all I have, they are my precious.
Emmalase.