I am just an extra in your dreams: I learned it as a child in the Sorrow Trees. My best friend said we're here in case your subconscious needs a face or two to fill your fears and fantasies. A pair of distant figures in your dreams; we tried to catch your eye at seventeen. We sprayed our names, and shouted yours; but down on the Streets of War, if you're no star, it's hard to steal the scene. We got mad; strode out on the Passion Waves; slashed the water with our blades, 'til we tired. We got high in the Lackadaisy Fields, spinning conversation wheels into the night. If we're just the extras in your dreams, how much can our efforts ever mean? We'll sail down Rivers of Malaise, and we'll sing the years away, but where's the sense of worth we sorely need? So my friend fled into the Nothing Plains. Now she'll never sing again, or feel, or breathe. I got low; scaled the Mountain Range of Grief; climbed the Chasms of Belief, 'til I could see: our lives are your synapses' gift; these strange puppet plays in the mist. As shadows of you, it's still our honour to exist. I am just an extra in your dreams. We're old now, you and me, nearly at peace. Now in all the grandeur of your mind; lost lands and dragon rides through Skies of Joy, I'm glad you dreamed of me.