In "Real," Editors capture a couple clinging to each other while their shared world threatens to collapse. They flee the wreckage in their minds, yet old songs and Saturday nights keep a dying flame alive. The repeated plea not to look at the light suggests avoiding a truth that would expose their love as a hoax, a magic trick of glitter cut from sand. Even as they call it overdramatic, they play records until static, choosing their own reality over what the light would reveal.
Real Lyrics by Editors
Run away, leave it behind
All that wreckage on the mind
My baby took a drive
We just couldn’t handle it
Old songs keep us alive
When the flame’s about to die
On a Saturday night
Lost in our gravity
Don’t look at the light
Hang on for dear life
You say we’re so overdramatic
You play my records till the static
Illuminate what we conceal
This ain’t real
This ain’t real
The hoax is slight of hand
All those embers that we fanned
Cutting glitter from the sand
Just like a magic trick
Nothing is as it seems
Navigating distant seas
My baby’s meant for me
My own reality
Don’t look at the light
Hang on for dear life
You say we’re so overdramatic
You play my records till the static
Illuminate what we conceal
This ain’t real
This ain’t real
This ain’t real
This ain’t real
Don’t look at the light
Hang on for dear life
You say we’re so overdramatic
You play my records till the static
Run away, leave it behind
All that wreckage on the mind
Run away, leave it behind
All that wreckage on the mind
Run away, leave it behind
All that wreckage on the mind
Run away, leave it behind
