Oh foolish dreamer, do you not see why
hopes woven with gossamer and stardust
will always fall? The moon is much too high
to reach, for earth-bound human shapes like us.
Oh simple child, the world is heavy for
the sorrows of a thousand broken lives.
Deep etchings of night from a silent war
are honest as a tear; as sharp as knives.
No, star-blinded bird, these streets are your own
and you're the only light your world will know.
Not up past the clouds, but to tired homes
and bloodshot eyes are where your wings should go.
The song of the city is calling for
foolish dreamers to dream for those ignored.
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