There you're standing now
With your head in a cloud
And your feet perched on gold
And tears are streaming down your face
in the face of everything good
that your heart's being told
And who believes in fairy tales
When they've been stranded in the mail
Since seven years old
Everything's a self-fulfilling prophecy
When you're running from the weight
of the world
All these fears and doubts
Have been having out
In the depths of your soul
And any hope that you
Might be illuminated by the sound
Of my voice is no more
Cuz what's the use of words
When they have hurt
And beaten you down
Since seven years old?
Everything's a self-fulfilling prophecy
When you're running from the weight of the world.