End this muse.

[_facade]

The world's spinning
It's made up of blurry lines
of silhouttes
of everything undefined.

We are fumbling our way through
To close in on the distance
But we can't find the path
The footprints are no longer there

The world's spinning
We have no desination
no direction
no place to run to.

The world's spinning
We are lost
We can't find our way.

The world's spinning
We're not there.