I am here, and you are here,
but we are not really here at all.


Chew them up,
build the fort,
The sky is a palette painting our demise.

All the colours are overwhelming (indecipherable)
Warnings, just keep those blanket and pillows coming, and turn those $#&@ing lights off.
As long as we make it alive our ears will reject their babble, and we'll fall around like imbeciles.