The air isn't real
It's made in a lab shipped in a bag
Reflections aren't real
When digital lights refracting on me
The pain isn't real
Just chemicals telling my brain how I ought to be, how I ought to be
Oh, what's the point in tell in?, if you're never gonna listen
What's the point in telling you why?
Our children will be buried under blankets of snow
And you'll be in your technicolor home
Conscious says
Yeah, we spoke of this before in a dream, of course
It was clear to me then, babe
But now it seems you still want more
He'll regret it
He said he's never felt that, so I'm wondering if you'd let him
He thinks it's coming easy
I know you are prone to dancing when nobody is home
Feels good to be alone
People free in his own words
It's not always what it seems to be
I've wandered far too long to tell apart, but now
All I want to do is be
All I want to say is how
All I want to do is you
