The old music box your beloved grandmother Gave you for your seventh birthday Starts to play some melody again But the tunes are discordant, unfamiliar
The story book you first learn to read Are now on your hands again You begin to carefully flip the pages But the plot is now different, unfamiliar
The letters your previous lover had sent you Lurk underneath your tidy bed Reminiscing while you read them again But the words are changed, unfamiliar
The house you have dwelled in For so many days, months, years You enter through the door so casually But the interior looks foreign, unfamiliar
The road you always take Whenever you stroll and ponder Leads you to the same quiet place But the scenery is different, unfamiliar
The words your mother told you Numerous reminders to keep yourself safe She repeats them all over again But her voice sounds pretentious, unfamiliar
The mirror leaning against the wall in your room Beckons you to stand before it You see yourself through the reflection But your face is not yours, unfamiliar