The little hopes that feed on those little dreams, die their little death, when the sun rises in the morning, the voice that urged me to carry on went silent hearing this, it couldn’t leave me alone like the sun leaves the rain behind, and the day dragged on, hot and without the hope, till that time one could dream and one could feel the pain, for hope is nothing but the pain we want to get rid of, don’t you think so, or have you got no pains to get rid of, like the blue sky above, like the clear mind, like the soul knocking your doorstep…

The little hopes never die, do they?