Reality. You check it and re-check it to make sure .
All of the pieces fit, no parts are missing, it’s all insured.
Life. Be careful, protect yourself, guarantee me the best view
Everything in little boxes, right and wrong, it’s all accounted for.
Hurry hurry time flies, pick it all up, try to lose nothing
Keep up or you’ll miss the train, life will leave without you.
Illusion. A story you’ll tell yourself to stay in the game,
Can’t miss out, can’t get lost, can’t be bested, it’s all a race you need to win.

Funny that. We’ll all die. No games, no races, no reality will stop my end.

Fantasy. A play-thing for those who cannot face the facts,
Those dreamers are bums, they slack, they’re lazy, living in a make-believe land.

I say
All lands we choose are make-believe.
We choose to shape our time, life, reality land.
I say
Reality is the mundane face for our imaginations,
A mask that’s set over the larger beings of our selves…
I say
Fantasy is the song our imaginations sing
So reality is only one aspect of our fantasy-land.

Where do you choose to live? What do you choose to believe?
Just asking you because I think about it too…

I’m lost, I’ve missed the famous train, no pieces fit, parts are missing from my view.
I’m not perfect like you. I don’t have the tracks all laid out before me. Do you?
How am I? Well, nothing makes sense these days, yet it’s all so clear
I’m crumbling, my skin is burnt to ashes, yet I find I’m still here.
The illusions are being blurred away, like changing masks shifting hard to pin
It doesn’t matter that I can’t tell what is real.
In this place I get no mobility, the resistance outside of me is like a wave of steel
Others are afraid of me of this wild that flows through me, they say I have issues,
That I’m mentally ill because of trauma, but they mean I’ve stopped believing what they see.
Instead I feel a peace in this place, but I’m not suppose to be here, it’s not healthy
I’m not supposed to feel these things I feel because I see the divinity in all of me.
And I see time stop, no games here, no boxes to fit reality in
I’m not careful, I don’t need any guarantees. They say I have issues, others are afraid of me.

No one ever says it outright, hidden glances and disapproving stares
But I know they mean to convey to me that I can’t face the facts, that I’m lazy
Well maybe, but whose make-believe should I be?
Whose reality should I pick for my fantasy-land?

Yours, of course. Because you’ve understood it all.
You know how all the ways in which hard facts make reality. Yours.
Funny that. We all die. No games, no races no reality will stop my end.
Reality. Something you check and re-check to make sure
All the pieces fit, no parts missing, it’s all ensured.