We’re paper mache people whose balloons have burst unnoticed
Laughing though we’re all unsure exactly what the joke is
A costume party where the guests forget where they begin
Becoming clones of cliches from the ads whose themes we sing
The tailors to the Emperor finally fell for their own tale
Although the sea inside us all is where these fantasies set sail
Pieces on the board moved by a hand not known as theirs
A knowing thats so vast though lost as soon as one compares
Drops suspended midway as we plunge towards the void
Out of which all things come forth, neither created nor destroyed