The speaker opens with a string of glamorous, restless images: coffee in Paris, cigarettes in Berlin. It sounds like an invitation to run away, and even offers to pay for the ticket. But the repeated line "something is holding me back" cuts the fantasy short. The speaker wants to go, yet can't.
In the second stanza the reason seems to surface. The speaker feels pressure to be "the perfect human being," something they say isn't really them. Oddly, they hand that role to the person they're addressing ("that's just you") and ask that person to go out and live the dream on their behalf. Then comes a turn: "you don't have to be" perfect. The speaker may be freeing the other person from the very expectation that traps them.
The mood is wistful and a little tired, a mix of longing, guilt and quiet generosity. The title, "a stolen dream," hints that the dream is lived through someone else, or perhaps never fully the speaker's own.