The dreamer forgot how to dream,

The musician could no longer play,

The silent ones began to scream,

and I sat in shock and dismay.

The painter destroyed his paint,

The sculptor had nothing to display,

The ones who were pure began to taint,

and I sat in shock and dismay.

The world of art began to crumble,

The museums wafted away,

The orator could only mumble,

and I sat in shock as dismay.

Now we are dead,

Filled with dread,

Art has left,

We are bereft.

The world is dark,

A hollow shell,

Abandoned barque,

It sounds like Hell.

I was a dreamer. Now I live a nightmare. 

My heart matched the tempo of the crowd's applause. Great. Hours of blinding lights melting away my sanity and deafening screams reminding me of evil's potential. 

I had made it. I sold over two million records, yet every night I cried myself to sleep. 

Because they don't tell you that misery can live with fame. That a crazed fan could show up in your hotel room, standing over your bed, a gun pressed to your cheek and then rape you. And especially that your contract prohibits you from speaking of it.  

My eyes closed & the blackness came; suffocating, leeching its way into my bones. This is Neverland - the place dreams come to die. There was colour here once; before the war, back when people still dreamed. But now... now there's nothing. Sure, we fought the Government. Well, we tried. They were too strong, too sadistic. They made us forget how to dream, stole them & won themselves the war. Bastards.

Yet, there is hope. The Rebels say they've made a drug. If you take it, they say you can dream again. That's where I'm going. I'm going to get my dreams back.

The dreamers forgot how to dream...

They envisioned their dreams so fresh

I'm not saying the dreams were deserted

The universe initially desired was a bang

It escalated into what was believed everybody wanted of them

Enraptured in their solar system haze

Yet stuck in their ways

They forgot how to rest

And fly to an untouched cloud

To reinvent a new dream