My aunt used to live in Paris. I remember she used to come home and she would tell us these stories about being abroad and... I remember she told us that she jumped into the river once. Barefoot. She smiled. Left without looking. And tumbled into the sand. The water was freezing. She spent a month sneezing. But said she would do it again. Here's to the ones who dream. Foolish as they may seem. Here's to the hearts that ache. Here's to the mess we make. She captured a feeling. Sky with no ceiling. The sunset inside a frame. She lived in her liquor. And died with a flicker. I'll always remember the flame. Here's to the ones who dream. Foolish as they may seem. Here's to the hearts that ache. Here's to the mess we make. She told me a bit of madness is key. To give us new colors to see. Who knows where it will lead us. And that's why they need us. So bring on the rebels. The ripples from pebbles. The painters and poets and plays. And here's to the fools who dream. Crazy as they may seem. Here's to the hearts that break. Here's to the mess we make. I trace it all back to then. Her and the snow and the sand. Smiling through it. She said she'd do it again.