Perhaps this is plagiarism. I don't care.
Perhaps this is rubbish. I still don't care.
I'm sorry Até, that I could not do justice to it.





Dream on, dream on you poor child
You stupid twit that we’ve beguiled
And frightened, scared; and while you dream
And while you want to yell and scream
And scratch your face, and tear your hair
And moan and groan out in despair
We’ll mock and rile and laugh at you
And watch you weep, and then we’ll do
Exactly all those things you fear
You cannot try to stop us dear.
Where would you start? What would you do?
And what’s the point? You know it’s true:
You can’t defeat who you can’t see
You cannot fight society.


And so you spend your time in dreams,
In writing rhymes, and plotting schemes
And when time comes, you shall awaken
And you’ll find that you’re forsaken
Looted, robbed or so it seems
While you were busy chasing dreams
We’ve slit your wrists, and chopped your nose
And even chopped off parts of those
And you’ll wake up and scream with pain
And gnash your teeth and go insane
And while you’re at it, we shall smile
Again, and mock, again, and rile
You. Then, perhaps, you prick, you’ll see
That dreams are not reality.


So dream on, pal, dream on, dream on
And then when all your dreams are gone
You’ll wake and find that one fine day
We’ve stolen all your dreams away.