How are we suppose to be something that’s not real?
Something that’s dreamed up in the minds of shallow directors
Whose first priority is money
A country that’s so focused on fake, we begin to discourage what is real
A society built of plastic

And society is the reason that the girl weeping in her room wants to go to sleep and never wake up again
The reason she stains her skin with regrets
The reason she poisons herself with anxiety and tribulation  

So buy a train ticket and go back to a time
when grass was a child full of energy
when smiles were real and genuineness was expected not suggested
When reality was more than a choice
A time when imagination meant something

But media is to blame
Cause just a single ounce of fake can cause more pain than any broken bone
It’s a chain
An endless chain with links of polished gold
A chain that leads to one harsh yank of a rope to turn off a light that will never be turned on again
Then billions of apologies that are now as useless as an old plastic bag

So break the chain and give the pieces to the girl who's crying in her room because she doesn't look like fake
Then maybe fake will runaway