A few years ago I wrote a poem:

Woozy as a Mellotron, a misty version of magic music ran through my mind
as a stream of consciousness. When the stream runs dry, will I cease to exist?

Exitement flashes pierced through the mist of waking sleep like lightning,
and the loud thunder startled me. Was I free? No, it was a false alarm.

When this road ends I’d better find new friends, I say to myself.
This mistiness must be bad for my health, there must be something I missed.

When this stream runs dry, will I cease to exist?

I believe that I will leave fading traces in people and places:

Some are fading
even as we speak,
but death leaks
through life
and life through death,
or at least
that’s one way to see things.

If you don’t like it, there are others, but I have to ask you not to argue with me right now,
for now I yawn constantly

I’m as woozy as Mellotron music
emanating through a misted dawn.

Later on, I took the same idea and made a song out of it.