When a dream of theirs died,

they'd pen it down with black ink on a black sheet,

adorning it with the choicest of words,

then dig a solitary corner of the earth beneath,

place the sheet inside,

mix the mud with good ol' Bud

and cover up the pit.

They'd then sit over the grave,

mourning through the sleepless night

and at sunrise with an intent stare into the horizon

see a new dream with their swollen eyes wide open.

And finally they'd jump a hundred jumps over the grave,

and disappear in the pursuit of what they used to call...