You are reading a lie, but you don't know it.
Sheltered in the expanse of your country home, swathed in the comfort of your cashmere cloaks,
You are golden and grand and guileless.
The whole world sits, locked away in your dresser drawer, inside a snow globe.
Your nimble fingers stretch and splay out over the pages
Feeling the imprints of the words you don't understand, the Braille on my skin you can't really feel
Your heart stays warm while mine goes cold in the chill outside
Your eyes stay blind while mine flutter open
Your manicured nails dig into my palm while I pull away
You live in a fairytale, but I live in the newspaper.