Welcome to the house of mirrors, where truth bends, Step inside, every crack is where it ends. But don’t blink—this maze was made for the brave, Or the ones who can pretend they’re not afraid. They said the sky was falling, but the cracks were in the ground, Foundations sink silent, while the carnival sounds. We trade our hearts for a ticket and a fistful of thrills, Feast on candy-coated poison until we’re too numb to feel. They paved the rivers, and now the droughts are debates, Cities burn slow, but the smoke dissipates. We built fences out of fear and called it a shield, But no walls can hold when the soul’s been repealed. Welcome to the House of Mirrors, where dreams are on lease, And the cost of the truth is a slice of your peace. Where the wolves dress as shepherds, we graze in the mist, And the ones who stand tallest are the first to be missed. The king plays chess with pawns carved of bone, While the queen guards the kingdom on her cellular throne. They print paper crowns for the masses to wear, And call it freedom while we choke on the air. You can run, you can hide, but the system’s a seed, And it blooms in the cracks of the things that we need. Scroll the headlines, a dirge for the lost, Each click feeds the beast, and we all pay the cost. The whispers get louder, but the words are a blur, Truth’s a song out of tune, and we forget the verse. A thousand eyes blink, but they never connect, We’re too busy building mirrors to see what reflects. Welcome to the House of Mirrors, where dreams are on lease, And the cost of the truth is a slice of your peace. Where the wolves dress as shepherds, we graze in the mist, And the ones who stand tallest are the first to be missed. What happens when the house of mirrors turns to ash? When the circus leaves town, and there’s no one to laugh? Do we pick up the shards, or do we find new glass? Do we rewrite the script, or just replay the past? The soil’s too tired to grow what we need, But we’ll plant plastic trees and call it a reprieve. The wolves will howl songs of progress and gain, While the sheep count stars, forgetting the rain. So welcome to the house of mirrors, where truth bends, Where each choice is a crack, and each crack’s a dead end. Maybe we’ll learn, or maybe we’ll burn, But the lesson’s a flame, and it’s waiting its turn.