INT. TOWER - DAY
It's true. Then let us hold in check
this savage nature,
this fury, this ambition,
in case we ever dream again.
And so we shall, for we are living
in a world so strange
that living is no more than dreaming,
and all I've seen has taught me
that the man who lives is dreaming
what he is, until he wakes.
The king dreams he is king, and lives
inside this lie, commanding,
arranging and governing;
and all the praise he's given,
only on loan, is written on the wind,
and death turns it
to ashes (bitter fortune!).
Who would ever want to reign,
knowing he must wake
into the dream of death?
The rich man dreams his riches,
which only bring him greater cares;
the poor man dreams he suffers
his misery and his want;
the man who starts to rise is dreaming,
the man who toils and schemes is dreaming,
the man who wounds and wrongs is dreaming,
and in the world, in short,
all men dream what they are,
though none of them can see it.
I dream that I am here,
weighed down with these chains,
and I dreamed I saw myself
in another, kinder state.
What is life? A frenzy.
What is life? An illusion,
a shadow, a fiction,
and the greatest good is small:
for all of life is a dream,
and dreams themselves are dreams.