Because they are all hidden behind glass doors.
And all I see,
is the mirror of me,
whispering shouts of who they think me to be.
I can't count the stars anymore.
And I don't know why I even did that before.
So tell me a lie, that I can ignore.
And the truth will fit like a sweater,
and maybe the sky will fit the weather.
And maybe, just maybe,
everything will be better.
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