I know now, or in a sense...
I've always known, I've always known
That I don't care about real life
It's hard to care if you never were.
But if I'm not real...
Will people care for me?
Will death just accept me?
Or do I have to stay and tell my story?
Either way, I'm more than unreal, less than real.
And I'm more conscious than I've ever been...
In a sense, I'm alive.