What a pretty day! All grass is grey. Mushroom way. Cold and halogen. So simple thoughts, like summer rain. Is there real life: walking-talking crowd And machines sounding vile?
Someone in my room, Someone I could feel. It's just a ghost of our past. Doctor says you're dead. How could you do that? I have so much pretty things for you.
Everyone's invited. Enter here, no way out. They give me some pills, and I feel better day by day. One I can't break out - voices sound like yours Call me every night.