Her Imagination Soft Cell

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She slips in and out of her dull imagination
That floats around the twilight of her tomb
Clutching her little treasures
That represent a happy moment
Displayed with sad affection in her room

But this life is a prison
And it hurts to hear the children laughing
While they live their pretty little dreams
And frozen all the while
Is a tearful bitter smile
Nothings really what it seems

Nothings really what it seems
Nothings really what it seems

Like a silver little fool
You were standing at the alter
In the tides by the candles
As they burn

Pressed against the mirror
Playing all your favourite film stars
Ready for the camera
That would never, never turn