Ripped pages

The sun stops shining in your sacred little town
You're still talking, but there's nobody around to listen
And all the pages that you've drawn out on the floor
Are ripped apart and hanging from your bedroom door

Come and tell me how you feel
You make me wish that I was real

Graphite lines mark up the pages
Of your knee-high socks and long shoelaces
Tell me all your secrets
Let the world pass by
Imaginary people never have to lie

Graphite lines mark up the pages
Of your knee-high socks and long shoelaces
Tell me all your secrets
Let the world pass by
Imaginary people never have to lie

Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm

Come and tell me how you feel
You make me wish that I was real
Come and tell me how you feel
You make me wish that I was real

Hmm...