Do they feel bad for lying to me?
Not telling me about the world
Raising me up to put me down
Running circles around my simple mind
Hoping that maybe one day I could find
some form of truth, a form of life
Not knowing what's real, what's not
Being kept away from the real me
The real person I ought to be
What hurts more than being lied to?
The lies actually being followed through?
The gossip, the rumors, the media
What is this place I called my own?
This dishonest house, my throne?
These soundproof walls, my insecurity
Barely surviving under our own pretenses
What kind of world do we
live in?
This is not my home,
It is my prison
