The world is made of many pages And every page contains a world We flicker through them in the daytime But in the night become unfurled Hey -- the past is gone And only rain Will linger on A mirror bright In a dream Shining red A land of rain Shaping me -- A sheet of light In a stream In my head A land of rain Taking me -- I am the maker of my promise I am the dreamer of my day This unmade thing that overtakes me Has multiplied and got away It was the power of creation. That's what I was searching for. The answer was as simple as sleeping between two mirrors; dreams reflected back and forth between a million worlds, refined and concentrated into ideas -- as much of creation as can be contained inside a human skull. At first, the dream made no sense to me. Red like a fire engine, covered in ugly bolts -- then the subtlety of the design came through; the way it mirrored my thoughts, my mind, the process that created it -- I was mesmerised by the flow and the intricacy until it filled my whole understanding.