There’s a fiction stuck in your teeth

On your black tongue’s affection that you don’t believe

You’re an empty hall that echoes conceit

In an abandoned building that burns and it bleeds

A screaming forest of falling trees

No clouds move for you when your clown lungs breathe

A dream is real when you’re asleep but you’re not here

Without direction, you direct the scene

If you were young, you would be living beyond the screen

You’re fickle and you’re fake and you flee

You abandon anything when it wakes up real

A screaming forest of falling trees

No clouds move for you when your clown lungs breathe

A dream is real when you’re asleep but you’re not here

People's faces are just faint traces

All your dreams now are just blank spaces

Constant status of constant stasis

You're a map of the loneliest places