rosey colored, misty mornings
blurry through the looking glass
happy in their sweet delusions
the ignorance of the seething mass
nothing to fear where nothing is real
but then, nothing seems to truly matter
but deep down in their secret hearts
they ponder the horrors should it... (shatter)
of fancy flights
once pretty lies
and diffusive lights
of a fresh tomorrow
but then the truth...
and then the sorrow...
the harsh, cold reality
with edges cutting like a knife
did they tell you of the price
for the vagueries of this shadow life
scratching, clawing, digging deeper
having to know, to riddle the whys...
falling faster, further... (deeper)
deeper into the phantom glow
truths and lies blur into one
and as soon as you think you understand
you find you've only just begun...