| They say times are hard for dreamers
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| But they won’t be hard for me
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| I’ve saved up everything I know
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| To take that step beyond the lawn
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| Keep walking till I see the station
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| And then see it go
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| Inside the train, out through the glass
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| My finger tracing
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| All of these towns I’ve never heard of racing past
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| Off the train in Paris, half a mile from Sacré-Cœur
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| The city’s waking up for me
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| A sign says an apartment’s vacant on the second floor
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| And suddenly I hold a key
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| I turn a lock, the rooms appear
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| And all it takes is one more step, and then I’m here
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| Just me behind my door!
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| It isn’t what I have, it’s only what I have in store
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| That matters now, the past can only fade
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| And everything I’ll ever need is here
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| This is how my world gets made
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| They say times are hard for dreamers
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| And who knows, maybe they are
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| People seem stuck, or lost at sea!
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| And I might be a dreamer
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| But it’s gotten me this far
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| And that is far enough for me
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| Look out my window there’s a view, of other windows
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| My own museum full of paintings I look through
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| Where everything is clear
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| It isn’t where I am, it’s only where I’ll go from here
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| That matters now, and I am not afraid
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| As everything I’ll ever need appears
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| This is how my world gets made |