I am here, and you are here, 
but we are not really here at all. 

Chew them up, 
build the fort, 
The sky is a palette painting our demise. 
All the colours are overwhelming (indecipherable) 
Warnings, just keep those blanket and pillows coming, and turn those f**king lights off.
 As long as we make it alive our ears will reject their babble, and we'll fall around like imbeciles.