I don't like fantasy, because it's a lie.
It seems like you'll open your wings and fly,
but when you do, you can only fall.
You're great there, but here; you're small.
And I don't like reality because it makes me sad.
Because reality's so hurtful, so real; so mad.
In reality, things don't always go as you planned.
Here, it seems as though I'm cursed; I'm damned.
I spend my days locked up in my mind.
I want to stay there, leave it all behind.
But a voice always calls me back to my life,
where things are always as sharp as a knife.
I aways have to come back to the place
that sports a multiple personality face;
where I can get hurt, and then find a friend,
who'll only end up hurting me again and again.
And the two; fantasy and reality
were really never meant for me.
Because I'm so fragile and they're so cruel
they taunt me; break me; use me like a tool.
And when they finish, they leave me alone.
By this time, I'd probably go home.
But now I can no longer stand
I can no longer hold nobody's hand.
Because this haunting reality and fantasy,
completely tore me, ripped me, broke me.
And their hands, that held the sharred pieces,
loosened their grip and then they released.
And I fell, all scrapped up, down to the floor.
And cried an ocean for- who knows anymore?
And I lay there for now and forever.
Not happy, not sad, not living; never.