Sunday was jarringly redone; a faulty illusion
The ending left misunderstood amnesia for a diorama love
Who will I become?

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Sunday was jarringly redone; a faulty illusion
The ending left misunderstood amnesia for a diorama love
Who will I become?
It's kinda like a psychedelic lie, and yet it tries to be
A line between the villains and the rest
A cloudy day, run away on latent aripiprazole
Missing what I reckon is a soul
Maybe I'm better off dead
If I was would it finally be enough
To shut out all those voices in my head?