The Folly Of Pretending

Everywhere I go, they struggle. Hustle, selling clothes. Peddling toys that glow, and roses to the garish ghosts.

But I donít really think you know.

That all the verdant hills, the emerald green, conceal all the ills that I might have seen. Oh, the ill youíre hiding with the trees, Iím behind it hiding from enemies. Hiding from enemies.

I donít really think you know
that the folly of pretending
is faultier than being wrong.


And as you wake, the golden dew rose from the lake to envelop you. Oh, the truths youíre hiding in the haze, Iím caught in it, gone without a trace. Gone without a trace.

I donít really think you know. I donít really think you know that the folly of pretending is faultier than being wrong

The blossoming fields, the swooning streams, the eternal yield, that Iíll never see. Oh, the ill youíre hiding with the trees, Iím behind it hiding from enemies. Hiding from enemies. Hiding from enemies. Hiding from enemiesÖ