Bucket of dreams

I once had a bucket, it was wish full.
A small bucket maybe, but every day it opened up, for me
And out of this bucket, which was brown, uh, dreadful.
I'd pick out a dream, which has never come true, poor me.

So one day I threw away the bucket without thinking
And for a while I noticed no difference, to me
But then I realised with a feeling of sinking
That now my dreams have deserted me.