I’m not your Alice. 

This hell isn’t the Queen’s palace. 

Our Wonderland is a dream of the past. 

We read it again, and it always ends, sadly.

We are forever doomed to wake up, undoubtedly. 

This illusion is the only place we’re happy. 

Even Alice’s greatest dream was a nightmare. 

We fell asleep, so don’t you think waking up is fair? 

Even if we were only happy when we were there. 

You know, the Mad Hatter left the tea party abandoned, 

You know, in the end, Alice always leaves Wonderland. 

And Wonderland forever leaves her empty-handed. 

I suppose Wonderland was our sweet sorrow

Between all the seconds we borrowed, 

And you were just the Cheshire Cat I followed. 

After all, what’s a book without illustrations? 

What do our words mean without conversation? 

What is a dream without a vivid imagination? 

You are a looking-glass into a whole new world, 

Filled with such horror, but you’re still an open door. 

We take one step and oh--we’re falling through the floor. 

I chased down an imaginary, floating grin, 

And ran straight into a game of croquet I couldn’t win. 

Running across Wonderland with you--the prettiest sin!