[Storyteller.]

I'm looking at you through the glass;
don't know how much time has passed.
Oh god, it feels like forever,
but no one ever tells you that forever feels like home,
sitting all alone inside your head.

'Cause I'm looking at you through the glass;
don't know how much time has passed.
All I know is that it feels like forever,
but no one ever tells you that forever feels like home,
sitting all alone inside your head.

How do you feel? That is the question,
but I forget - you don't expect an easy answer.
When something like a soul becomes initialised,
and folded up like paper dolls and little notes,
you can't expect a bit of folks.

So while you're outside looking in,
describing what you see,
remember what you're staring at is me...

How much is real? So much to question.
An epidemic of the mannequins,
contaminating everything.
We thought came from the heart,
but never did right from the start.
Just listen to the noises
(Null and void instead of voices)

Before you tell yourself
it's just a different scene,
remember it's just different
from what you've seen.