From black of night a spark ignites:
A hope, a dream, a shining light.
The dream burns in his heart as fire,
O'er time the dream does never tire.
He wakes, he dreams – then waking
dreams;
The world is never what it seems.
Reality falls far behind
And fantasy consumes his mind.
With day he dreams, with night he
dreams,
The world is never what it seems.
He wanders through a land unknown,
And writes his ventures all alone.
His future there, from dreams is clear,
From never-ending dreams of flare.
He writes, he dreams; he writes, he
dreams,
The world is never what it seems.