and I create a vision for the losers...
a comforting ideal of my fears...
and I loose the illusion of an ideal...
by it´s being now just only true...
and I cry out my comfort for the sad ones...
and all the pain and the grief in their hearts...
but I´m a fake like the comfort of the liars...
just the illusion of a wish deep in me...
lies in the language of the sleepers and
truth in the dreams of the liars...and
I dream the dream of the lonesomes...
so empty, so still and so deep...
but I hate the solitude of the dreamers...
the sadest truth that a single thought can be...
and I light the passion of the sleepers...
for the awakening of a still and deep light...
and I find lies in the sleep of the dreamers...
an awful truth in the hopes of us all...
lies in the language of the sleepers...
