What a pretty day! All grass is grey. Mushroom way.
Cold and halogen. So simple thoughts, like summer rain.
Is there real life: walking-talking crowd
And machines sounding vile?

Someone in my room,
Someone I could feel.
It's just a ghost of our past.
Doctor says you're dead.
How could you do that?
I have so much pretty things for you.

Everyone's invited. Enter here, no way out.
They give me some pills, and I feel better day by day.
One I can't break out - voices sound like yours
Call me every night.