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If you love something give it away,
This tide is a box full of suggestions,
Maybe offended, Maybe afraid.
Blinding as it is the small televised war,
It's just a bottom-less pit,
Just a joke as we all die for it. Runaway.

We can play musical-faces as we switch who we are,
I'm leaving but I don't know where to,
The wishes no longer lay upon the flowers,
As left-handedly they all say grace,
As it is Tragic. Runaway.

As it is small, it risen to the sky,
The faces look nothing but align.
As confident as it sounds,
We're gonna trust 'cause you lie.
As backward as it is, it just fades into a scam. Runaway.