There is a place I’d like to escape to
I know it doesn’t remember me
But I don’t care, I think of it still
The air full of decay from the first step
The decay of broken dreams
So strong you can smell it
Even though some dreams died long ago.

The green trees
Still green for those that haven’t died
Blow out air to the people that walk
And some who don’t
They have dreams of their own I imagine
None of which probably happen
I imagine if a tree dreamed
It would dream of living
Not to be cut down and used
By those who take its air
So in that case, the trees too
Breathe out broken dreams

In spite of that, it’s a lovely town
Full of half happy faces
And great coffee houses
Though I don’t know for sure because I like hot tea
At 9 pm, the streets are bare
A sleepy town that lives off broken dreams
I should visit there again…