- I could trust her
- He’s going to leave her
- He’s perfect for me
- She’s a bitch
- He’s handsome, stop
I dreamt about myself sitting and waiting for the bus, dressing like a princess while carrying a bag full of something with me.
Everytime someone gets closer to speak I pick a mask while handsaking and put it on their face saying: I could keep on trusting you my dear friend.
- You’re going to Leave her I know it. Cause the feeling you shared it’s now totally dead
- You’re perfect for me I see it by the way you move, by the tone of your voice, by the things you say
- You’re a bitch, just a bitch
- You are handsome. Just handsome. Handsome enough to make me believe that I deserve your kiss, that it could be sugar in a bitter life.
We’re all on our way to that party: the princess in pink who does not believe in love anymore and refuges the responsibility of their kingdom.
The blond alice who is wearing a wig and wastes her time after that running rabbit because she has nothing to do.
Peter Pan and his wendy, he hides carefully his mobile, he’s just answered to Trilly: “baby don’t call me tonight, I’m with her”.
Milord is elegant, he’s wearing a red rose on his suit, but his very long cloak is drowning in the puddle.
Jessica rabbit is wearing red, she shows off her charme, that poser… she’s hiding tears under the make up, hoping it won’t let her down like everyone else.
Casanova arrives late. Gorgeous ad hell.
“It takes a lot of time to choose that outfit, isn’t it?” Everybody supposes.
Or it could be that he didn’t slept so much: he’s fond of old movies, he passed last night watching two or three of that.
Everything is perfect in the ballroom.
Strange how there was a time where confetti gave sense to this carnival.
