My life consists of a melancholy dream. A seeming thing of sighs and sights best disbelieved or simply ignored.
So it stands to be reasoned that I know not who I am or where I go I simply know this melancholy dream. This seeming with sighs and sounds best disbelieved or simply ignored.
So I move forward with nothing to show and nothing to gain, a life unlived. A death all the same.