Turn around, it's all for show,
They don't really know,
Who they're looking for,
None of us do,
We're wandering in the dark,
Hoping when we wave our hands someone will find us too,
It's a lonely life,
A doubled edged knife,
We're born alone
And we die alone,
Deteriorating by our lonesome down to the bone,
We make movies and books
About true love but its usually about looks,
Why do we say it's all about personality
When everyone's eyes are wide open,
Looking for who's the most pretty,
Suddenly it's light because you can't see souls,
And people cling onto the rays streaming in from holes
The holes of society grasping onto sight,
Telling us all there's no use,
The war is to be pretty but I don't want to fight,
The bullets are showering in,
Poking holes and letting in all the sin,
I don't want to fight anymore,
The war is getting old,
And we're all getting poor,
The light is blinding our eyes,
So we search harder ignoring the cries,
What are we to do if it goes dark once more?
Reach out our hands and look?
What is there to look for
If we can no longer see
That is what the problem appears to be,
We're stuck in this war of light and dark,
Looks and love,
Pressured to be perfect to light a spark,
Why do we pretend we know?
When we all are characters in this show
No scripts in hand and running around trying to remember the lines,
But are they really the lines?
Or is that just what society told us were the confines?