She’s a fraud, and they both know it.
And they both pretend anyways, because what’s the point in the truth?
She likes pretending; she pretends that his hair is a little longer and a little blonder; she pretends that his face is a little rounder, his eyes a little bluer.
She’s a fraud wrapped up in a pretty blue sundress with white lace (she may as well be a beautiful fraud).
And when she pretends, everything becomes perfect (does it really matter if she can’t tell what’s reality and what’s virtuality anymore?).
He pretends with her, and in turn she pretends that he’s as honest as she is[n’t].
He’s a fraud too, and they both know that.
He’s existentialism and dreams passing for a normal boy.
He pretends her hair is a little shorter, a little redder; he pretends her face is a little more angular, her eyes a little greener.
They pretend for (with) each other, and they both end up living in a beautiful dream (what’s so bad about that?).