The dreams we leave behind
will make us die a little
every time we forgot
about them,
my master used to say
one starry night.
A long time ago,
we used to be the heretics
of the last cycle,
but as the world renewed,
we were forgotten,
buried deep
under the sand of time,
again, and again.
A game we played,
as we kept coming back
As gods, the goods
we brought with us
are new to them, the den
of the relentless treasure
is always closed
to their wide-shut eyes,
no spies, small fries,
the one who cries,
the blight we know
as the Blind Mice.
No dice, no spice, no face,
amazing grace,
with fire and lace,
is this the case,
with the disgrace
and all that strength
that maybe went
and it was meant
for us to remember
last month, in December,
that old quote,
written in gold, on the Black Note
"All the forgotten dreams
that you live behind,
will die."
So long, and good-bye!
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