[Intro] I grew up with objects that watched me back, faces in the furniture, eyes in the clock. Thought it was just clever animation, never knew they were reading how my mind walked. [Verse 1] Mantle clock talking with a worried tone, teaching kids that time has a mind of its own. Cogworth twitching while the minutes drip, little heartbeat ticking in the background script. Door Knob grinning in a painted frame, mouth on the brass like it knows your name. Turn the key, whole room tilts strange, training you young that a handle can rearrange. Letters wake up in an alphabet reel, dancing on the screen like they feel what you feel. Animated vowels with a secret spine, lining up phonics with a deeper design. You think you’re learning how to read and write, they’re mapping how symbols hit your sight. So later when they whisper certain lines, your own childhood shapes carry their signs. Time travel flick where a boy takes flight, Blue Yonder bending what you call night. He jumps through years like skipping a beat, timeline folded underneath his feet. You watch that young, something slips loose, internal clock with a missing screw. Once your sense of before and after bends, it’s easy to hide what started and ends. [Hook] We were learning in someone else’s dream, where clocks talk back and the letters scheme. Every cute frame had a hidden theme, turning soft thoughts into part of a machine. You thought it was just a Saturday stream, but the stories crawled deeper than the beam, til the world on the screen and the one you breathe started trading places behind the scenes. [Verse 2] Goofy drops a toothbrush under the pillow, grin so wide and the laugh so mellow. Kid closes eyes, thinks it’s just sleep, next thing he’s watching himself like he’s off his feet. Astral lesson in a dentist chair, body at home, mind over there. They call it health, little hygiene skit, but they’re drilling how to leave your frame and split. Trees fall in love with a Technicolor sway, flowers sing and the trunks both sway. Roots that talk, branches that sing, teaching that the forest has its own ring. Later on, underground inside, they build whole systems where the paths collide. Singing trees giving out travel cues, telling alters where to step and who to use. [Verse 3] Girl says Oz is more than a dream, family smiles like she’s lost in the steam. Psych in a ring with a ruby glare, promises shocks that “won’t really hurt, I swear.” Calls her visions extra current in the brain, labels her memories static and strain. Ship her off for a gentle zap, just to pound her story flat on the map. Storm hits, hospital lights go black, she slips through water and never comes back. Wakes in Oz with the script reset, same old themes in a different set. Ruby slippers, mirrors that lie, twin in the glass with her same brown eye. Mombi’s spell and the captive twin, slave in the mirror while you walk in her skin. That feeling when you stare at your reflection late, and you’re not sure if you’re the one at the gate, or the one inside, pressing on the pane, waiting for someone else to carry the name. They put that right on a video spine, sold it worldwide like a comfort sign. Lightning, clinics, dreamland door, whole blueprint of how to split you more. [Hook] We were learning in someone else’s dream, where clocks talk back and the letters scheme. Every cute frame had a hidden theme, turning soft thoughts into part of a machine. You thought it was just a Saturday stream, but the stories crawled deeper than the beam, til the world on the screen and the one you breathe started trading places behind the scenes. [Verse 4] Kid in an arcade in eighty two, watches Tron make his future feel true. Programmer gets hit with a beam of light, wakes up inside of a grid by night. Fights an MCP in a neon maze, returns back home like it was just a phase. You learn young that your body can stay while your whole mental life moves far away. Mornings now from nine to nine thirty, Wonderland reruns sugarcoat dirty. Girl through a mirror like it’s nothing at all, tea pot song where a person turns small. Under the umbrella, three little lives, blink and you miss how the pattern arrives. White Rabbit framed as the only guide, soft voiced master on the inside. Once you trust that cartoon face, to explain your fear and your mental space, you’re halfway ready for a living man to wear that tone and take your hand. [Hook – final] We were learning in someone else’s dream, where clocks talk back and the letters scheme. Every cute frame had a hidden theme, turning soft thoughts into part of a machine. You thought you were just watching a glowing screen, but piece by piece in the in between, they taught your mind to step off the scene, til you couldn’t swear which world you’d seen. [Outro] They called it magic. They called it fun. But the film in your head keeps running when the tape is done.
