Her cot from the bedside, soapbox quaked by

As tinfoil hats, bluecaps, fell out of style

Course she's over it, all over this, over everything

Like a moth on a blue light, she still craves the Pencle kind

Like you would never understand, waiting for a waking moment

Pan is dead, the king of cats, assured her demons came

But you would never know, hides it well as known

(Hides it well as known, hides it well as known)

Sat like sitting ducks, for reactions

And if we're not too careful, we'll get one

All dressed in red, imagined friends, we're never all there

Bets it's eventual and has already happened

You built the shoes that walk on you, waiting for a waking moment

Moment, moment, moment, moment

Yelled household named aloud, with a None-Playable Cloud

Too sweet for their own good, hides it well and good

(Hides it well and good, hides it well and good)