| A small wooden cross
|
| The fragile and silent reminder
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| Of innocence lost
|
| Now gathering dust in a room
|
| That time has forgotten
|
| Too many ifs
|
| And too many questions
|
| To any given answer
|
| Too many why’s
|
| And too little reason
|
| You stumble and you fall
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| Feeling nothing at all
|
| Everything looks fine in this neighbourhood
|
| The streets are clean and life is good
|
| There’s a school and several stores
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| The big bad world seems far away
|
| In the park where all the children play
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| Their mimicry of wars
|
| And who’s to tell
|
| Which house was built
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| With mortar of mercy and guilt
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| What stone would hide the poisoned well
|
| The day before the angels fell
|
| In this city of steel
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| The skin feels like melted down iron
|
| Where guns are for real
|
| And love’s just a deal on the street
|
| No one cares to remember
|
| Too many ifs
|
| And too many questions
|
| To any given answer
|
| Too many why’s
|
| And too little reason
|
| With your head against the wall
|
| You’re going nowhere at all
|
| He’s a plastic man
|
| With a drastic plan
|
| He’s got a wife and three kids
|
| He’s a bore, she’s a bitch
|
| Got a job that sucks
|
| Selling carpets and rugs
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| That nobody wants to buy
|
| Now plastic man’s
|
| Got a fictional friend
|
| With a fictional face
|
| But a deadly embrace
|
| That he’s felt before
|
| So he locks the door
|
| And he’s gonna cast the die
|
| There’s no way out
|
| There’s no way back
|
| If the glass will show
|
| Just a hairline crack
|
| He’ll be watching bullets fly
|
| But plastic man
|
| Overplayed his hand
|
| He’s got to raise the stakes
|
| Or slam on the brakes
|
| He’s got a busy mind
|
| That’s working overtime
|
| Between the cheater and the lie
|
| There’s no way out
|
| There’s no way back
|
| He’s got to bend down low
|
| With the killer in his eye
|
| Love and manipulation
|
| Are two different doors
|
| Both will promise salvationv But in different floors
|
| To avoid confrontation
|
| There’s a thin line of trust
|
| Such a weak separation
|
| When the line’s drawn by lust
|
| Breaking every connection
|
| To the child he once was
|
| When his only protection
|
| Was a small wooden cross
|
| Something has changed in the neighbourhood
|
| Where the streets were clean and life was good
|
| They’ve closed the school and stores
|
| The big bad world has found its way
|
| To the park, where children used to play
|
| That now are kept indoors
|
| The papers sell
|
| Their tales of grief
|
| Claiming anger and sheer disbelief
|
| About the man they thought they knew so well
|
| The day before the angels fell
|
| In this city of glass
|
| The heart’s tied to strings of desire
|
| To memories passed
|
| To secrets amassed in the house
|
| That time had forgotten
|
| But too many ifs
|
| And too many questions
|
| To any given answer
|
| Too many why’s
|
| And too little reason
|
| For dreams beyond recall
|
| Once and for all
|
| Look at the father
|
| Look at the son
|
| If one is the other
|
| Thy will be done
|
| The story no one lived to tell
|
| About the day the angels fell… |