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Through blue mist and mountains, forced to exist
A sole dream hovers, above and below, and far, far beyond
People, places; a tired town, and as it yawns he attempts to resist
His mind, it lays elsewhere, a tall place perhaps, and daunting
Pencil scribbles on paper and fingers dance around keys
Images once clear as day, still clear, but different, and yet the same as before
Eye’s glazed over, other worlds are here… click
And he waits bent over, sweating as all his weight falls to his knees
Fear, hope, entrapment, lies, dreams, and waiting
A far land, across the sea, and something, and someone, may appear
Hey now, hush child, don’t you dream it’s all over
Dream of the new old, those new beginnings set to become a nostalgic present to be
It has been faced before: this hope, this fragmented dream, this lingering fear
Time will tell of the degree of the animated, the drawn, and the free
Tall and short with eyes of brown and hair uncertain, change
Maybe, this is known, but still the reflection is so often that much clearer
He holds and tugs and clings to this shirt, to that of faded dreams
Carefully searching for all the colours he may have left behind
It is this shirt: it could destroy him, or it could define him
It could realise his will
It could be his proof
It could be the end of him
And the colour is waiting
Waiting at the other misty mountain, which he will follow
The misty mountain where dreams are realised
And the misty mountain where dreams are swallowed

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