I am but magic and lies,
I am not real you see,
I just fantasise,
The world that I see through my eyes,
Consists of just me and melodies and rhymes.
Music and dreams,
That is all that there is, to me,
If you live and breathe,
Music and dreams,
You may have half a chance,
Of knowing the real me.
This music's nice,
It is not mine,
But it played in my head whilst I lay on my side,
Whilst tears trickled down to my sheets,
I don't think anyone knows the real me.
Sometimes I think I'm despised,
For being wrapped up entirely, in my little world,
The world that I see through my eyes,
Consists of just me and melodies and rhymes.
They tell me "Girl, you ain't got no style",
But do you want an album, which puts you to sleep?
Do you want mediocre shit on your dial?
I just write music, which comes to mind.
I feel like I've got some disease,
and it's working its way,
inside of me,
Destroying my body with ease,
But the doctors they won't, believe me.
Please give me more time,
There's so much music of mine,
Even at 14, scared of the responsibility,
Of recording everything on my mind,
You see I've got so many melodies and rhymes.
This music's nice,
It is not mine,
But it played in my head, whilst I lay on my side,
I think I first heard it as a teen,
It really is the stuff of dreams.
I am but music and lies,
I am not real you see, I just fantasise,
I was never here you see,
I'm just what you hear,
When you go to sleep.