Sitting in rooms
Let time pass by
In solace we heal
In pictures we hide
Reserved is my place
Encased are my thoughts
A painting so old, an image
Feeling, like you know who I am
Spoken, words repeating in ears of people we don't even know
Visual, lead to the being inside me, a stranger inside me, a scream
Glass I feel my veins are made of
Can't move or hide the fact
It holds my stare and signals out to call me
They call me, to listen, to feel, to progress
You see.
This is not a figment of your imagination;
It is real. It exists in two dimensions.
It is found in pictures
Does glass ever fade, do our eyes grow blind
Do we ever listen to the feelings inside?
Lost with despair, a lonely empty room
No thinking at all, just listening to...
...Lies of illusionary figures that tell the story - true
Stolen out from under the lids of my eyes
Sad and often misleading pictures unfold
It blinds and lights the way to follow
Here today gone tomorrow
Your self-image is a programme that you turn on every day
Sitting still is moving everything around you
It is why there's only black and white and no greys in between
Negatives are what you only see in pictures
Want to know the reasons why
Transcend to the sublime
Ideas have never been grown
Coloured in by modern screams
By modern screams.
End of signal
End of signal
End of signal
End of signal
