Slipping in and out of dreams,
nothing's ever at is seems.
Only ever occasionally real,
no matter what our hands may feel.

Unsure of when I sleep or wake,
the line between what's real and fake
begins to blur and get out of focus
as the sandman weaves his hocus pocus.

I live two lives and each has rules,
a different set of goals and tools.
In one a man who's learned to fly,
the other a boy who's much too shy.

When I start to dream while I'm awake
my two selves start to merge and make
a growing boy, not yet a man
but one who's come to understand
he cannot spend his life in dreams
and should instead try out the things
that he would dream while he's awake.
For that is how the world will make
this boy into a man.

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