Meet my maker and find the childish mind that dreamt him,
He believes I am here to walk in darkness but he really just meant dim.
When can I win if through the looking glass my enemy I meet.
Fleeting feet beat down upon these heartless streets.

Does the darkness creep up on you like the fiend was meant to?
Or what if we were wrong, like green was meant blue, or that these dreams were meant true ?
For it is the dream that sent you to the alley of the broken artist,
Finding shelter in lies, he knows truth is spoken hardest.

Is it that you feel it, or do your eyes come up shallow?
Does the real life fit, or do the street corners resound hollow?
Wade knee-deep in the ocean of failed hopes to fish for another,
Flood yourself with the notion that this stranger is your brother.

Is the one looking down into his manger my mother?
In the storm of cancerous answers does truth's lightning birth thunder?
Or just created by shock and awe, as the trigger locks us all,
We ball up, hands pressed together tightly to make our last call.

Only to have it fall upon a false dream,
Now in the darkness you can hardly heed the warning...
"Nothing is as it seems."