Lyrics:

My waiter is a Brando
Effecting Nicholson's smile
I feel a sort of compassion
But choking down my dinner was a trial
The sixty-five year old poet
He's still finding his voice
I read his old yellow clipping
Calling him the poor man's shithouse Joyce

The impossible dream (yes you will find out)
Impossible dream
The impossible dream (yes you will find out)
Impossible dream

His face was a jackal
It seemed to her in the dim
She clutched her precious objects
That held no meaning for him
She stuffed her screeching child into a stroller
It's throwing cheap plastic toys in its wake
Transfixed and horrified
He watched it snack on some kind of albino cake

The impossible dream (yes you will find out)
Impossible dream
The impossible dream (yes you will find out)
Impossible dream

Start at the top and live like you're always willing to fall
But you know it makes no difference to me
And you know it makes no difference to me

This year you'll reinvent yourself
And grow comfortably soft
You'll jump over the barbed wire
And get your giblets torn off
Slow motion in a crashin' car
His halo formed in shattered glass
Yellow police tape and a blonde wig
I guess you went too fast

The impossible dream (yes you will find out)
Impossible dream
The impossible dream (yes you will find out)
Impossible dream
The impossible dream