I tend to mistake my shadow as my best friend
when I turn around and see the light,
that after-effect that thunder leaves
as it's screaming through the night.
Shake up my snowglobe, darling,
I need more than this fishbowl world
where nothing changes, everything's the same,
and we all just spin and twirl.
Can you see it in my eyes
after the storm has blown itself away?
Three thousand secrets in the blueness
that's fringed and shaped by grey.
Paper or plastic, you choose;
snowflakes in twenty shades of white.
They all just feel so fake here,
as fake as I am small tonight.
What if all I ever am
is a paper cut-out shadow shape
who spins and twirls and sings her songs
to an enclosed snowglobe-scape?
And every once in a while
the world can peer within.
They'll see me through the glassy walls,
see the scars upon my skin.
Maybe that's what scares me most..
seeing past the white.
The world's outside my snowglobe...
black boxes burn tonight.
