I sit and stare at all before me, contemplate and wonder. What does it mean? Eh, it doesn't actually matter, I should just put my head down and flow through as I ought. But no! I shant! I ought to bite at the hook, do what I wish and when I wish it, grab this world and make it do my bidding! But is that sane? Possible? I really don't think so. However, a man can dream--and life is so lengthily short. Crying has three things--Sickness, sadness, and utter joy. I hope to only experience one. However, it's far past that, and have seen all three my entire existence on this confusing ball of rock. I look at the stars in the sky and wonder--as someone calls me back to the real world, the world I know, no dreams, just work. Work. However, I constantly gaze back, gaze back to the dreamworld, gaze back to what I wish and want so dearly. However, time has told that the inattainable is within perfect reach, the moon just a war away. However, dreams are literally paralyzing, so one must tread softly in this unimaginably strange place.