We find ourselves always weaving a web of lies
Hiding behind in the despair we wish to vanquish.
Painting faces, painting personalities.
To try and make things right.
But who is to say it's not wrong?
We walk down the wrong roads,
Trying to find ourselves,
But it's not really us.

Dreams remain unfollowed,
Hopes are forgotten,
Everything is just a memory.

Reality is just the faintest remark.
Everything is so ideal.
Masks are real faces,
Costumes are everyday clothes
No one is living in Reality.
Just webs of lies...