I wish your insanity was a facade,
Created for yourself,
But it is very real, instead.
We have played the game
For oh so very long,
And now when you are called to account,
You are crumbling,
For what more are we supposed to do,
Than tell you what you want to hear?

The lies and deception,
And the ways in which you speak of them,
And how you detest those qualities in others,
Is, I am sure that you know,
Nothing more than projection,
And how hard that must be,
When the killing laser is reflected back on you?

I have spent a good deal of time
Searching for a way that I might help,
But you, my dear, are in Wonderland,
And by decree, only you can write the tale.

We all stand by, and we say that we saw it coming,
And indeed we did,
But it's not like anybody can talk to you;
I mean... really, really talk to you.
So we closed our conscious minds,
And made the phony smile a fixture,
And we nodded our heads in acquiescence,
Knowing the lies all along...
For what they were.

And worst of all,
While we struggled in our own simple lives,
Was to see the cars, and hear the lies,
Of how life might be on the other side.
And we blushed with your brazenness,
And wondered if any of it was true ,
And we got up early and went to work,
And imagined you in bed till noon.

Find a mirror and look;
For soon comedy becomes tragedy,
And you will want to see it coming.
And on those days when you feel alone,
Stop and consider how we wanted a family all along,
But after you showed  up for dinner,
There was no oxygen left in the room.