Tyrone's lyrics

Of my death

In the unfathomable night, I sank into bed, my mind probing the border between sleep and wakefulness. I looked at the ceiling as if it were a clock driven crazy by a thousand turns, and in that trance, a dream took over my being.

When I opened my eyes, I found the presence of a child, whose eyes reflected the essence of my own image. In one dialogue, I questioned the boy about his identity, and although his answers were simple, the essence of him revealed an intrinsic connection to my being.

-Who are you? —I asked the boy.

—Brother, it's you. "Sleep," he responded with a wisdom beyond his childish appearance.

When I woke up, I found myself on a couch, accompanied by an old man whose gaze seemed to penetrate my soul. I began to tell him about my life experiences, discovering that this old man was a psychologist who listened attentively.

"Tell me about what has happened to you," the old man urged.

Between stories and memories, the old man offered insightful reflections. His voice resonated with wisdom, suggesting that he stop complaining and take on a mission in life.

"There is a mission for you down there," said the old man.

In this dialogue, the old man's words guided me toward a deeper understanding of my existence. At this point, the old man, now part of my recurring dream, sighed and said:

Elder: Here is the mystery of life. Every time you are reborn, write this to those around you.

Me: What mystery is that?

Elder: Sing as if no one hears you, dance as if no one sees you. Love without fear of betrayal, without giving priority to those who do not value you. You understand?

Me: Yes, but...

Elder: Laugh if something embarrasses you. Over time, bad experiences are forgotten. He closes his eyes to a pleasant aroma and enjoys each exquisite flavor. Happiness is not having it all, so don't crave the unnecessary. —Let's see if you can tell them all these teachings to their faces. He—snapped his fingers.

My awakening, however, was more shocking than anticipated. He wasn't back in the dream world; I was in a coffin surrounded by loved ones who were mourning my corpse. The smile on my face contrasted with the tears of those who said goodbye to me.

I walked among those present, observing my own wake with a unique perspective. However, reality caught up with me as I realized that this was not a journey, but my own death.

In the middle of my own funeral, I realized that the mission suggested by the old man, that of writing down his teachings, remained unfinished. An echo echoed in my mind: "Stop." Death, that unbreakable truth, was presented as the conclusion of letters that would never be read, beyond my own consciousness. "The mission is not complete," I whispered.