I want to face the tree that hides the grapes.
I want to hide the fake so I can be here safe.
I know I am far away when looking at my desire, for
I hate the fracas that is handed to my teacher.
I never know how I feel, because it is just a cup.
I know when the fake falls and fade fails.
I know I should race so I can wipe the blood up from my face.
You might say I should efface the street I have passed by.
I can tell I cannot do it because the red façade is merely a surface.