It is a sunny day in Glasgow, indeed. A sunnier day than the past ones. A sunny, dreamy, colorful day. It is a dream. A dream where Glasgow's mist fades into us in red and white and green and blue vortexes. Watercolors coming in and out of us, painting the sky and the grass and the sea... You and I are the brushes. While we fly we stroke the canvas the blue sky has become. And we know it's a dream. But we know we don't wanna wake. It's a nice, nice dream. But we can listen to the alarm clock buzz all along our beautiful bright scenario. This play is ours. This dream is ours, isn't it? And if it's not, then we'll surely wake. And if we wake, if I wake, the alarm clock's music will not be but an unbearable deep stubborn noise.
Let's hope we never wake up in the real Glasgow anymore.
Come into my dream...
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