You feel them smile, the laugh inside,
the joyful, playful, harmless laugh, of child;
You feel their sadness, the tears of crying,
you bare with it as if you cry.
You dream together, the sands of seas,
the cold of mountains,
the murder scenes of now.
Of nothing,
you create a world of yours,
almost idyllic,
so frankly real.
What good am I?
To have you all, my friends, imaginary friends.

How real are you, I can't imagine.
But can I die to know the truth?
I'll either hear the same old cry or laugh,
or lose you all at once.

How real are you?