Through soundless labyrinths of dream you pass, Through many doors to the one door of all. Soon as it's opened we shall hear a music: Or see a skeleton fall . . .

'When you are dead your spirit will find my spirit, And then we shall die no more.'

Let us retrace our steps: I have deceived you: Nothing is here I could not frankly tell you: No hint of guilt, or faithlessness, or threat. Dreams-they are mad…

The poet walked alone in a cold late rain, And thought his grief was like the crying of sea-birds; For his lover was dead, he never would love again.

Along A River-Side, I Know Not Where, I walked one night in mystery of dream; A chill creeps curdling yet beneath my hair, To think what chanced me by the pall…

Yeah runnin' down a dream that never would come to me. Workin' on a mystery, goin' wherever it leads. I'm runnin' down a dream.

Nothing but a speck we seem In the waste of waters round, Floating, floating like a dream, - Outward bound.