Fake lies are half truths.

Sitting at the computer, and just gazing at the screen.
Will you make yourself a poor girl? Will you make yourself a queen?
Mouse in hand, fingers hover over the keyboard's keys.
Your eyes move across the words, taking in the subtleties.

Slowly you type your name, and you choose "Emma LeFay."
The rest comes in a blur, your location, your birthday.
You can be whoever you want, they'll never know you're not.
And you can run from the truth, but it's not long before you're caught.

You write down every detail of your perfect made-up life.
Your parent's marriage, your siblings, your estranged uncle's ex-wife.
And you make friends like amazing, and they fall in love with you.
Do they know that you're not Emma? Hell, they haven't got a clue.

Then one day you just can't bear it, and you reveal it to a friend.
The friend reveals it to others, but, oh baby, it's not the end.
Except everyone's too ignorant to tell that you're not you.
Do they know that you're not Emma? Hell, they haven't got a clue.