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Sadly A Fiction
Lyrics: John Popper
Music: Chan Kinchla

And when the day begins I need her to begin me
She's hell-for-leather when I let her see what's in me
It's so addicting there's no predicting what's she's going to do or say
By the gods that made her I can't persuade her but she'll do it for me anyway

She isn't real
No, I've never met her
Simply a hope, perchance to dream
Ah but still, I can't forget her
Hope springs eternal it would seem

Sadly a fiction my predilection for her arrival
She'll smile politely then only slightly to my would-be rival
There's no denying that I am dying for a chance to be her faith
It's almost tragic to hope for magic but still something in me waits

She isn't real
No, I've never met her
Simply a hope, perchance to dream
Oh, but still I can't forget her
Hope springs eternal it would seem

She isn't real
No, I've never met her
Simply a hope, perchance to dream
Ah but still, I can't forget her
Hope springs eternal it would seem

2001 Blues Traveler Publishing Corporation

First release: Bridge
Released: 05/08/2001
Earliest time played: 04/11/2001
Last time played: 06/26/2010
Playing frequency:
  92 plays (see all shows)
  4.95% of shows in the database
  10.47% of shows since debut
  Detailed statistics
Other recordings of "Sadly A Fiction":
  Live: What You And I Have Been Through, 2002


hell-for-leather
Someone who is hell-for-leather is doing something with great speed or effort. The expression dates to the late 19th century and the writings of Rudyard Kipling, who may have been referring to the effect of riding a horse at top speed on the leather saddle - surely the whole experience was hell for the leather.
a hope, perchance to dream
A slight modification of a line from Hamlet's soliliquy:
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.-- Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.
Hope springs eternal
A quote from "Essay on Man", by Alexander Pope (see also "The Gunfighter" for another famous quote by Pope).
Hope springs eternal in the human breast:
Man never is, but always to be blest.
The soul, uneasy and confined from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.