song 3

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 tellin' 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