I was alone with myself. And I mean alone, for myself gave me no company of my own. It turned aside, because it was lazy fore mostly, and although secondarily, it more importantly feared conflict. It feared conflict because there was no intrinsic belief that conflict could lead to depth rather than a furthering of isolation.
I fear being alone. And I mean alone, because I remember what it was like. I was no company for myself, as I was predisposed to laziness by way of a vaguely skeptical disbelief in the world and all its wonders.
I dreamed of clouds... (the single man, lost in a world that few men understand)
I dreamed of capturing you. To conquer. To eat your children, suspecting that one of us was bound to... (might as well be me). Flex your muscles young man; you won't always be that way.
I dream of now... (What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey. That's a pretty good idea. I'll give you the moon) I dream of being captured by you. To be known. To watch your children, keeping silent as I watch them sleep... (hush!). Guard your tongue young man or let it loose; you have all the time now for both ways.
I was lost. My name was not known on my own lips. Identity wasn't a thing to be grasped. If I had a name, it would be useless. It would explain nothing. I would remain lost.
I am lost. My name is insufficient here. My identity floats/sinks/swims/evaporates into this sea. I am not a strong swimmer, but you tell me my name gives me courage. It explains my place here. I remain lost.
Strolling in a Viennese cemetery one bright afternoon, I came upon a gravestone. Written upon it was,
As you are, I once was.
As I am, you will be.
He's a dead man. With you, I won't be.
Oh, I love you from the top of my heart.
Being lost with you...