Mr. McCartney was sleeping fitfully in his lonely bed, drifting in and out of dreams, taunted by memories of how insanely wrong his life had gone.
As he tossed and turned he suddenly became aware of an image forming in his mind. It seemed as if he was looking down a long dark tunnel at the end of which was a pinpoint of bright white light.
The light gradually grew larger as if he were floating down the tunnel towards it. As he drew closer he could discern a figure, plae and slender, clad in a white kaftan.
The figure had long dark hair and a beard.....and round pink-lensed spectacles. When it came close to Paul it began to sing:

Imagine there's no Heather,
It isn't hard to do,
you really are well rid of
that gold digging cow,
She wanted your posessions
and half your total wealth
she used your name to carve out
a career for herself......