Here I sit in a garden of lies
The echoes of dreams in the crystal sun
Running headfirst into probable demise
Devoid of laughter; of songs; of fun

The hollow shell flakes away in the breeze
Like a whisper of unreality tainting the beast
The mouse and the gears; the robot and the cheese
You’ve never seen the orange eye, at least

We pluck the feathers of an agile thought
The box that has never existed blew up
And as they melt into the endless pot
Time watches and drinks from her little teacup

When young lightnings go back to their moms in the sky
Do they ever wonder, “Who am I?”