Because of a dream, I couldn't be there
In blood or in flesh to tell you the truth
So in summation, nothing is sacred
It's all an illusion and there is no proof
What would proof do for us, to know it was nothing?
How fruitless the fruit
The dream that I'm in is one where I'm flying
Untethered from everything, my body, my soul
It starts with a buzzing, a lot of vibrating
A clanging of bells, a loss of control
Then I'm ethereal, I'm under the carpet, I walk through the walls
Because of this dream by which I mean dying
I cannot be there to answer the door
You'll have to explain to whomever's calling
That nothing is sacred, that nothing is real
And when they laugh, you'll have to laugh with them
What else can you do?
