And I heard a sound that called me down to a pretty painted town.
Where all the people make the rounds to cover the hounds

And they say, if it looks good, it must be
If it seems holy, it must be.
We all know holy's on the outside anyway
If they don't see it, it won't be true
So smile again and turn on cue
And until tomorrow when we press repeat let's find some solace in our sleep

And I wondered what could break them of this spell
What truth was there that I could tell
These certain master crafters
Who shout the sound of breaking
And abuse the holy laughter
only to bounce it back from the rafters

And they say, if it looks good, it must be
If it seems holy, it must be.
We all know holy's on the outside anyway
If they don't see it, it won't be true
So smile again and turn on cue
And until tomorrow when we press repeat let's find some solace in our sleep

I don't want to stand and watch any more
I've fought the battle. They want the war
With no solution but silent desperation
This hollow sanity is not breaking
The masks seeking to swallow adoration
Leaving only the cruel imitation
Of what once was truth

And they say, if it looks good, it must be
If it seems holy, it must be.
We all know holy's on the outside anyway
If they don't see it, it won't be true
So smile again and turn on cue
And until tomorrow when we press repeat let's find some solace in our sleep

Tell me you love me.
Tell me you mean it.
Tell me I’m worth it.
Tell me anything at all.
Or
Tell me nothing.
But
Be kind.
Be true.
Love me with your voice.
Love me with your words.
Love me with your kiss.
And never let me go.

The rose sits quietly,
Buried in the earth
Waiting,
Waiting to be chosen,
By someone she could also choose.
Many have glanced at the brilliance of her hue,
But they would not choose.
Some have uprooted her stems, only to place her down again,
Changing their minds upon further inspection
Silently she waits for the one who would take her,
To make her their own,
To never return her to the soil alone.
This is love, to choose and be chosen in return,
An exchange of hearts without reserve
This is love, though few are courageous enough to give.
But this is love, nonetheless,
And she will wait still.