Once, in a dream, I saw a shadowed knife in wrappings of silk
I pondered, only for a moment, why such a thing was glorified.
Yet then I left, onto my next dream, and here I bathed in the hot waters of the eight.
Cold and bleak was my time between dreams, so this I will not speak of.
In another, I had sand in my sandals, with the ocean in my ears
This is where we are, the sun and I, that is where we were.

He followed me, and he thought I followed him.

It was then that I snuck off to the pond, and looked, and saw.
I saw a beautiful knife, it was free, and so I stole it

This knife, I knew, bore no memory, nor I of it.

And so the sun rose, to the top of our mountain.
And, naturally, I followed him to the peak.
It was there that I wanted to display my beautiful knife.
I withdrew this knife, and reached my hand up high.
Too high though, and I realized that the sun was bleeding.
The sun fell and died, and I saw my forever shadowed knife.
The sun fell and died, and I saw my dream come true.