They call her Claire

They call me Claire. Some people ask me to stay, some people don't even dare. But I really... I just... I don't know, I don't care. I felt in this pilgrim, kind of jail, this fairy tale, and I'm so far away from me – and that ain't a song. Maybe I don't know, maybe I don't care. The truth is... well, I think it doesn't exist, think I don't exist, think: there is no truth. What we know is that this monkey, this bear, this... this zee is here, or out there, I don't know, maybe I... Well, I don't care. This silly... whatever, wherever he is, gets more and more crazy each day. But he's fine, maybe 'cause in his madness everything seems okay. I thought I could hurt him and go away, but he liked and asked me to stay. That pain is his only pleasure, I know. Well, I think that I know but... Maybe I don't think, maybe I don't even exist. Who cares?