I don't want to give a name to what's around me

I don't want to lock you into a small-minded world

I want it to be free from me and from all my lies

Wearing a name is a burden

For what if you talk to me about a friend?

And what if this friend is a monster to me?

Why wouldn't you say: Amelia broke a mug

Five fishes came out of the pieces of the cup

One drown in the ocean and the others were made of thin air

Amelia felt asleep in her dream and dreamt of being a girl

Who broke a cup, but her dream was made of thin hairs

And she woke up drowned in an Ocean made of tears

Amelia was the name of, say, the girl I was dreaming of last nigh

tHer dark brown hair are gently drifting around the nape of her neck

When she sleeps she looks like the slowly slipping into the Ocean

Amelia is, say, a siren wearing clothes made of dreamt tears

For dreamt fears are more true than convenient ones

Amelia can't survive into real tears, she prefers broken cups

Where will you go, if you do escape from my dreams?

What would be your name, if you ask me to give you one?

And if I don't, where would you die in the morning?