Truth is but fabrications,
a figment of inspiration.
I can't compare life or death,
Nor the sound of your breath.

Time goes by, and seasons change
No one sees you walking down the street,
Its fall but flowers bloom without leaves.
and here I sit and wonder what is truth?

Eyes closed I learn to paint,
In solidarity I paint your soul,
Brighter with every stroke,
My painting is monotonous,
for it only paints you.

Everyone around me dances,
I ask myself everyday if I have gone insane.
With a smile on my face,
What is truth? What is lie?
All I know is you. . .

Nobody sees me,
but I see you.
truth rejects me,
Fantasy to me is real,
For its all I see, and that Fantasy is you.