Try to hold it but it vanishes from my hands. Try to swim in it, I wind up on cold sand. Try to cut it but I cannot make the knife go. Try running but my legs are moving too slow.
I, drawin' on the sunshine, I. I, an X-ray of a dream, I. And a boat that's hauling water. Up the river made of sand. . I, drawin' every mountain, I. I, postcard in my hand, I.
Between the black and the gray there is only the rage. Of the waterfall dream. And the shadows that play in the roaring cascade. Will not stay in the stream.