Are we still drawing hearts in the sand,
And washing off pain like the dirt on our hands?
Are we getting older?
Or is the sunlight getting colder
As we wish upon stars in our own Never Land...

Are we still painting rainbows where blood used to be,
Are we still afraid of what we can’t see?
Are we still writing love letters without signing our name?
Is this all still a game?
Are we still so naive…

Fairy tales never run out of ink to breathe.
When you tear up the pages’
It has no veins to bleed.
So let's find the pieces,
and tie them with string.
And I’ll outline our hearts.
And you color them in.