The dream may yet be mine.
The dream is still vivid, still bright. But, it has blue eyes instead of
green, hands that are less broken
and a mind not destroyed by circumstance. Dreams: of a rugged, emerald coast -- it still lingers. Of craggy bog lands -- they still draw me in. Majestic hills
pull me northwest, always northwest -- towards the Atlantic ocean. Towards towns with
twenty inhabitants and a pub. Towards winding roads across desolate moors.
Towards singing syllables and intonations and voices. It´s still here. The
dream. It´ll always be right here. And so will I.
The Saw Doctors – Green and Red of Mayo
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