Daydreamer, do not awaken and relapse back into that feeble cradle of consciousness. Those hands cannot hold you; through such greasy fingers will you slip.
Slip, but never through, ever grappled but never quite gripped.
Your business is with us now.
Inert in a suspended fraction of hesitation, this body of ash balances between two breaths. Lethargy with it's sickening lisp attempts a siren call and for no better reason does the flesh heed. Almost on tiptoe but for curling whispers invisible beneath she drifts, seen lifeless but for a beat as faint as a moth twitch. Borne across the mirror reflecting all a void as never was, beyond silence, beyond thought...
Come we to free thee of all cares so to perfect the body for travel. Loose the snares of cognition; precognition, recognition - all lies before an all which ever was, as ever is. The trappings of distinction are false, will fragment and fall.
This... an end of sorts.
It has come without time as it is not of time.
It is your true birth, rebirth.