We simulate our fondest memories
Replicate each replicate
Commissioned by nostalgia
But still, we aren't happy
The truth tells us the truth
But it reads to us in a whisper
Its voice timid and weak
We always ignore its warnings
There's a fight to the finish line -- to find the author
To find out who is writing how our lives actually are
It's selfish to live in a false reality -- how did we build these lives?
What allowed us to see the author's dreamed world?
To look up to the sky
Is to look out from the page
To be inspired is to listen
To voices
From beyond
Our world
As the truth tells us the truth
And it reads to us in a whisper
Its voice is timid and weak
It's time we prick up our ears
There's a fight to the finish line -- to find the author
To find out who is writing how our lives actually are
An artist creates and a world comes alive -- inside lives creation
Another god writing another line and a new world springs into being
There's a fight to the finish line -- to find the author
To find out who is writing how our lives actually are
It's selfish to live in a false reality -- how did we build these lives?
What allowed us to see the author's dreamed world?