"Quickly moving towards the storm, moving forward, torn
Into pieces over reasons of what these storms are for
I don't understand why everything I adore
Takes a different form when I squint my eyes
Have you ever done that? When you squint your eyes
And your eyelashes make it look a little not right
And then when just enough light comes from just the right side
And you find you're not who you're supposed to be?
This is not what you're supposed to see
Please, remember me?
I am supposed to be
King of a kingdom, or swinging on a swing
Something happened to my imagination
The situation's becoming dire
My tree house is on fire
And for some reason I smell gas on my hands
This is not what I had planned
This is not what I had planned
Down in the forest, we'll sing a chorus
Hands held higher, we'll be on fire
Singing songs that nobody wrote"
— forest, twenty one pilots