Gla**house
Ten years in the gla**house.
And we're busy counting bruises, and watch the stones go cruising by.
They're just whizzing past our heads, and we're still standing here,
tied on a thread, stretched beyond our limits. Beyond my limit.
And I'd surely love to reach out and touch you, but it's suicide.
And now I'm watching your reflection, cos I can't look in your eyes.
And I'm burning. Just burning up on the inside.
It's so very very cold here. So very very cold here.
And I doubt if things will ever change.