Manic Street preachers - Complicated Illusions

On a street of old bones
Dust masquerades as skin
Time turns itself to stone
Nothing left to lose and nothing left to win

Desires to break and deconstruct
I defend the middle ground
Every battle I’ve ever fought
Has either been lost or bought

And in the rhythm of your voice
I find space to rejoice
My complicated illusions
Leave me with no choice

Even the answers that I dream
Are riddled with doubt and holes
Illusions are complicated
Redacted and retold

And in the rhythm of your voice
I find space to rejoice
My complicated illusions
Leave me with no choice

And in the margins of the page
Truth hides but leaves a trace
My complicated illusions
Are now no more than faith