We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams,
wandering by lone sea breakers, and sitting by desolate streams;
world losers and world forsakers, on whom the pale moon gleams;
yet we are the movers and shakers of the world forever it seems.

With wonderful deathless dities we build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story we fashion an empire's glory;
One man with a dream, at pleasure, shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure can trample a kingdom down.

We, in the ages lying in the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing, and babel itself in our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying to old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying, or one that is coming to birth.

Smokin' Cigarettes, Walkin' Dogs.