An envy of believers
in the phantoms and the ghosts
A jealousy for dreamers
and things we miss the most
The objects on the fringes
The outskirts of our grasp
Where edges fray, burns, singes
With every frightened gasp
at the chance they just might be there
be watching in the dark
A silhouette stripped laid bare
Might pay a fare so stark
Imagined in the shadows
Desired in our dreams
In colours where the rain bows
Our pot of gold, it teems
With treasures small but plenty
A pot where colours bleed
For wants it may be empty
Yet stocked with what we need
Some sun to salve the rainfall
Some daylight for the night
With light our shadows stretch tall
Grow confident with height
But you, you're on the outskirts
If that's even really you?
Such doubt, it makes the soul hurt
… and I don't believe it's true
Leaving envy for believers
The ones who risk the fall
A toast to all the dreamers
Good fortune to you all
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