They called it romance once upon a time--
the damsel in the tower in the tale,
the prince who won his princess in the end.
Back then, they said it was a dream-come-true;
nowadays they say it's just a dream.
No one believes in heroes anymore.
Nobody tells those stories anymore,
the remnants of some long-lost golden time
that now exist only in dusty dreams
as nothing more than children's fairy tales.
We don't delude ourselves that they are true.
We all know how the story goes--and ends.
What happens after ever-after ends?
That's not how we tell stories anymore.
We're looking for an answer, something true;
anything else is just a waste of time.
Who cares about the moral of the tale?
There are other ways to capture dreams.
They do not want the magic of the dream;
they want the pot of riches at the end.
It doesn't matter who will hear the tale;
it's not as if they listen anymore.
To tell the story would take too much time,
and they don't know how much of it is true.
The story can be false, or can be true.
Reality can languish in the dream
and strand the dreamer in the mists of time.
You think you know how all the stories end?
The rules are not so simple anymore.
Come here, my child, and listen to the tale.
They'll argue this is just a fairy tale.
They'll say it's nonsense, say it can't be true.
They'll tell you not to listen anymore,
but know this, child: they who deny their dreams
live only life, and that is where they end.
The dreamer lives the story for all time.
Don't wonder anymore about the tale.
Just give it time, for time will prove it true.
You'll live the dream until the story ends.
