I wend a semi-lonely way,

along a border's line,

the line between reality,

and fantasy's country-side.

I wish, I wish to know the sight,

of that lovely countries told,

and of the untold, I'll venture there,

until my life's gone done.

Why so lonely?

One may ask,

When so many people I see?

Yes, there be many people,

but they don't exist to you, but me.

Fantasy's fine people are always gay,

filled with merriment, the live-long day.

Sadly, they cannot cross the border,

to make their fortunes elsewhere.

Oh Fantasy, dear Fantasy,

would that I could live there,

Instead I stay trapped in Reality,

wasting away, wasting away...