Lie to myself, say it can’t hurt to blissfully dance in the rain
Except I’m finding joy in the fantasies of a moment from which there is nothing else to gain
Dream, dream, dream, but anything done in the waking hours is so, so, so vain
I’ve been here before, the writing on the wall spells nothing good, already I see the disaster at the end, how do I disregard it all when I know the pain?
I never can stop myself from looking through those eyes, walking down that road, throwing myself down that hill
Tell myself I fight it, but do I really try to resist the thrill?
Gaslight myself to justify years of being low in exchange for seconds of being high, yet still
Scream, thrash, fight about the price when you get the bill
It gets me feeling otherworldly high
I laugh in glee as I learn I can fly
I’m elated, triumphant, giddy, overwhelmed, ecstatic, jubilant and euphoric as I carve up the sky
But in the end, I just can’t, as I come crashing down, ask why
Why do I see myself walking the sunlit path when I know myself to be lost in the dark wood?
How am I crawling in a valley when on a mountain top I stood?
If, do it again, I could
I tell myself it’d be different, but it never was, so I know that to be a falsehood