From behind a stained glass window, a colorful blur is all that I see.
A shtatered view of the world, a shattered view of me.
The truth is hidden by shadows, my ideas are not complete, facts are lost to feeling.
Time trips and slides, but I'm not dreaming.
Maybe that's why I got the wrong impression of you.
Maybe that's why I got the wrong impression of you.
Writer(s): Mary Dunham
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