Open your palms, dont clentch. Imagine youre sitting, waiting alone on a bench.
The leaves blow by, rolling past your tired feet, those that you use to chase dreams.
They tell you time and time again, the wind doesnt speak, its all in your head.
They're right and they're wrong. They are the ones too ignorant to know you can be both.
They think you're naive, too young to know. Too young to be trusted with what you want the most.
Dreaming isn't what got me here, they boast. They tell you time and time again, dreaming doesn't make money.
All you say is I know.
Now you are the leaves, blowing by their restless feet ,oh the tables have turned &
their tired eyes and empty hearts show you just how many dreams they have burned.