If you could step into his dream,
Robbie would be playing his drums mean,
Showing off in front of the crowd,
Finishing it all off with one great bow.

I'd be in that crowd cheering him on,
He would drum like a victory was won,
After the show he would be mobbed by the girls,
Then he would run his tall frame away from the dream world.

His dream bubble would pop,
That pleasant dream would stop,
Reality would come into focus,
He will get ready for school like a swarm of locus.

Later he will go to his job,
And be called "The Jesus of Foodland" by the customer mob,
Someone might walk up to him and ask if he's manager,
He'll tell them his true age and they will look at him stranger.

After work he will change his cloths back,
To his favorite color deep, dark, black,
Before he goes to bed he will drum one last time,
Pulling his long hair back then making symbols chime.
 
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