The whole thing’s just an optical illusion
Pull the rug out while she is moving
Cruel as charades after dark
Can’t see a sure, invisible spark
every trick that her eyes play
thought he’d be the one that slipped away
And shiny things grow rust in storms
they’ll never keep you warm
And shiny things turn dull and weak
they bend under scrutiny
somehow she still checks in periodically
still jealous of the pages in your passport
she still reaches out condescendingly
but she’s less an expert and more an escort
And shiny things ruin more than souls
they choose who’s in control
WideyesWeaknees 