.
Song Info
Genre
Charts
#694 today
Peak #84
#38 in subgenre
Peak #8
Author
Overseri
Uploaded
February 19, 2025
Track Files
MP3
MP3 12.9 MB • 320 kbps • 5:37
Lossless
WAV 86.0 MB
Meta Data
BPM
140
Key
G min
Vocals
Female
Character
Danceable
coffee-place
dancefloor
Positivity
dark, sad, angry
happy
Appeal
unique
radio-friendly
Story behind the song
Alice stood before the looking-glass, tilting her head like a curious cat. The reflection mimicked her, but for a fleeting moment, Alice thought it had moved first. Thats peculiar, she murmured, tapping her chin. Quite peculiar, replied the reflection. Alice blinked. That was odd she hadnt spoken.
Are you me? Alice asked.
Are you me? the other Alice retorted.
Dont be absurd, Alice snorted. I asked first.
And I answered first, the reflection smiled. Which means youre the reflection, and Im real.
Alice gasped. Thats absurd!
Of course it is, the other Alice agreed. Yet here we are.
The looking-glass rippled like liquid silver. Alice stared at her reflection, which tilted its head with the same curiosity, but something felt wrong. The glass shimmered, as if it were water waiting to be stirred. Then, unexpected, Other Alice crashed through the glass, while Here Alice landed softly on a floor that smelled of old paper and ink. Around her stretched tall bookshelves, their books coverless, pages fluttering in an absent wind.
A nearby sign read:
Thats the way to the last dream.
That way to the first memory.
In the distance stood a small barn, its roof lost among precisely ten inches of stars. Footsteps echoed behind Alice, though no one was there. Whos there? She called. No answer came. She walked onward, passing books that whispered half-formed words. Some stories felt familiar dreams shed had, memories half-forgotten. At the barn, creaking doors revealed a void as dark as forgotten things.
Ask Alice, a voice whispered from the shadows.
Ask what? Alice ventured closer.
Ask if the past is really real, said the voice, or just an old dream with the cover torn off.
Alice hesitated, glanced back. The footsteps had stopped. Turning away, she stepped into the void. Above, stars flickered uncertainly.
She found herself before the mirror again, her reflection staring back. But now, the glass felt solid, unrippled, like metal.
Well, Alice mused, tapping her chin, if theres a real-world behind this metal mirror, and if I were there, would I be the real Alice here, or just a thought of her?
Her reflection smiled, though Alice hadnt. That settled it. She stepped forward, expecting resistance but fell instead. Through silvery ripples, through tangled whispers: Ask Alice. A bit of a tourist. Or wise, is everyone?
She landed softly on a floor of ink and parchment. Books lay scattered, their pages fluttering. A black rabbit darted past, muttering, Late again.
Excuse me, Alice cried, but where am I?
The rabbit paused, eyes flickering like candle flames. You are in the world beyond the world. The one you left was made of reason. This one is made of what remains after reason has gone.
That seems terribly inconvenient, Alice replied.
Only if you care about things like truth, the rabbit said, hurrying off.
Alice followed, weaving through corridors of unfinished stories. Somewhere, a clock ticked backward. Elsewhere, a barn door creaked open, revealing a star-filled sky, ten inches wide yet infinitely distant.
Then she saw them the figures following her. Or was she following them? They shifted like mist, vanishing when she turned to face them. Walking forward, they receded further still.
So Alice went on, always forward. Only her back remained visible, growing smaller, farther away. And so, this Alice who had been our Alice disappeared forever.
And the Alice who came from the other side?
Well, in this case, ask Alice.
Lyrics
Here, ask Alice if a little tourist
Or wise everyone is?
A little Alice in the country
Inside the mirror.
And in that case, ask Alice,
Herself, if she knows;
Who said that those who follow us
Are only the ones who blind us
The most, while surrounding us
With a little old barn
And ten inches of stars?
The more constantly slaughter
To the last trip
Of those who follow us
As we follow them.
They go to our rear.
Look in the mirror.
The very illusion of oneself,
The awakening exposes them.
They move away from those who pursue,
The more they pursue them.
Reality is liquid, and finally,
What is obeyed without so much?
For the day to realize
That you have dreamed enough,
And the dreams crumble.
This world, in its way, immense,
Insists on arising from the best memories.
The world, which is a rigid armor:
With paths when the taste of that,
Not practical ever if
It reveals so lean in an old book without a cover.
A little Alice in an ethical landscape
And in that case, ask Alice,
If she knows why the past is full of world,
Without reason, for sure,
If what lies beyond is just an alternative world?
