The Post Life

Last night, I had a dream that we were dead
We followed some bright tunnel to its end
Then, all these men cheered while some women wept
It was as beautiful as everyone had said

We came with empty pockets, empty debts
No silver, gold, or plastic promises
Just echoes of the people we had been
It was the way that every story should begin

And, as we stood staring off, we played back our lives again
But gave not a thought to the faults we thought we'd never forget
No more emphasis on counting down the days or counting up our sins
It's not the times you lost; it's the times you tried to win

I awoke to my same house on my same street
But every sight and sound seemed out of synch
Yet clearer, they could not have been to me
It felt as if it was the first time I could see
That time is just occurrence to a beat
And life is just a movie of the week
No sense idling in the fear of the critique
Far more important to produce than to speak

But as I lie awake in bed, I played back the dream again
And starting to creep inside my head were thoughts of every regret
But I told myself, "Some things just never fit; some shots were meant to miss.
It's not what you planned to do; it's simply what you did."