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Mathieu Holubowski
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The Folly of Pretending
Everywhere I go, they struggle.
Hustle, selling clothes.
Peddling toys that glow, and roses to the garish ghosts.
But I don't really think you know.
That all the verdant hills, the emerald green, conceal all the ills that I might have seen.
Oh, the ill you're hiding with the trees, I'm behind it hiding from enemies.
Hiding from enemies.
I don't 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.
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Oh, the truths you're hiding in the haze, I'm caught in it, gone without a trace.
Gone without a trace.
I don't really think you know.
I don't really think you know that the folly of pretending is faultier than being wrong
The blossoming fields, the swooning streams, the eternal yield, that I'll never see.
Oh, the ill you're hiding with the trees, I'm behind it hiding from enemies.
Hiding from enemies.
Hiding from enemies.
Hiding from enemies…
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