This feels Real

If she could see the machine;
the inner workings, the little things.
Get right in there, a microscope; A deadened spoke to poke around,

Foreign eyes on cryptic minds might glimpse on what I can't describe.
Foreign eyes, intergalactic smiles, Mask is as thick as my skin.

The caverns beneath our crown,
beneath the parts that we can measure and those that don’t frown.
These caverns are disguised, but the particles divide.
And we are disguised, but this house is where we seem to reside.
What goes on beneath the surface and will we ever see behind?

Is a wave to us the same.
Because This feels Real, but so does rejection. 
This feels Real, but seperate the silence from the drive and look again.

Two in one. Live with yourself. Watch yourself.
Stand back, look at it. Seperate. Divide. Split.

Shine a light on the surface of it.