I once met a man who trained himself not to dream
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What he seems to have seen was a glimpse of everything
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He's been painting pictures on canvas since age thirteen
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And claims he only exists in the mind of a higher being
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And I enjoy his work; mostly scenic landscapes
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But each one is focused on an easel where the man paints himself painting himself
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And all that's in his visual field
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He said this was the only way he could make himself real
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Ever since he could remember, he had one nightmare reoccur
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But until about ten years ago, it didn't matter
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It consisted of loud, distorted sounds echoing off the concrete
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He ran on top of it in attempt to reach a ladder
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Now sometimes, he'd get so close but never touch his destination
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Which caused him much frustration 'cause he didn't know what it meant
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And by the end of the dream, he saw the scene from a bird's eye
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Only to witness his dead body laying on the cement
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It was only to witness his dead body laying on the cement
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At first it freaked him out, but after a while he grew content
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So he thought, "It's just a dream," and kept living his life
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Writing his soul on the canvas 'cause it sheds his planet light
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And it goes on and on like space and time, ain't nothing odd
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It's not that he didn't believe, he just didn't approve of God
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His experience was one I couldn't comprehend
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'Till I stopped being detective and listened to him as a friend
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He said
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[Chorus]
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He once saw a painting that told his whole life story
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It was then that he knew he was the art of divinity
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He once saw a painting that told his whole life story
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A brush stroke of the gods made him one note in their symphony
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He once saw a painting that told his whole life story
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He spoke for himself and not the rest of humanity
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He once saw a painting that told his whole life story
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And I realize that I'm not real
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God just imagined me
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It's like I said
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About ten years ago, the event that changed his whole reality
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Took place on his monthly trip to the local art gallery
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It was there where he studied his contemporaries
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And there where he nearly carried his sanity to a hole and buried it forever
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It was a very mysterious day
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The place was almost empty
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And he got chills down his spine just being present in the scene
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On the wall, there was a picture that looked familiar
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And when he got close, his heart stopped
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cause he saw it was a painting of his dream
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It was a painting of his dream
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His body on a runway
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By a ladder to an airplane with its propellers spinning
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Which accounted for the loud noise
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The match up was perfect
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And that was the day he stopped believing in existing
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He resented his creator
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I mean, words can't explain
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What must have went on in his brain while he stared into a frame
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Of a work of art which he created and was at the same time
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The mind can't handle that much, it's just insane
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It's like reading a book where each words describe your thoughts
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And in quotations, it reads whatever you say when you talk
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You think it can't happen
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But it did happen
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I guess there's surprisingly wide cracks in each life's sidewalk
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He stumbled upon an answer when he never had a question
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And decided to stop dreaming to maintain his mental health
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Now he hardly talks to people
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Just stays in his basement
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Writing infinity, by painting himself
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Painting himself
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This is a strange universe
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Is it all just a blueprint?
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In the real universe, is my consciousness useless?
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Are we really something a higher intelligence made up?
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A figment of imagination colored by a cosmic paintbrush?
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Maybe all of our art creates the fate of other beings
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Then every character in ever novel thinks it's alive and were just gods
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Ruling blindly
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Just a theory
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I don't know what it means
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But that's the story of the man who trained himself not to dream
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[Chorus]
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He once saw a paining that told his whole life story
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He witnessed the paradox of the word "existing"
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He once saw a painting that told his whole life story
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He colored his world theirs, and concluded he wasn't living
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He once saw a painting that |