Their memory's like a train: you can see it getting smaller as it pulls away And the things you can't remember Tell the things you can't forget that History puts a saint in every dream.
Tom WaitsNow its raining its pouring the old man is snoring now I lay me down to sleep I hear the sirens in the street all my dreams are made of chrome I have no way to get back home Iโd rather die before I wake like Marilyn Monroe and throw my dreams out in the street and the rain make โem grow
Tom Waits