All the while you waste away, you're asking.. Did I really need another one to take me down.. Everybody knows it's something you had to live with darling.. Nobody's gonna tear you down now..
The one who turned to stone, has done his part of the moan.. One left unheard, is the one in search.. Will find the place to hide, where soul meet the fire.. Shutting the self down, is indeed the privilege unknown..
A mirrored reflection, a fractured star, The face you see, a crafted facade, Beneath the surface, depths yet unawed. The self you paint, a brushstroke so fine, A tapestry woven, where shadows entwine, But in the stillness, when thoughts unwind, A different story, in soul you'll find.
We're things that labour under the illusion of having a self, this accretion of sensory experience and feelings programmed with total assurance that we're each SOMEBODY but Infact: We're NOBODY
