Sunken are the eyes of my creation

into a glass containing smelly puss

Whatever sense of gratitude I may have felt

It went away too soon

He was your son, I was your daughter

and the dream would last a million years

Embraced by the song of a million weeping strings

and all forgotten things

The wheel was my father's

and mine was the stick

If you ask who made the castle crumble

and who is left to blame

I guess my answer to your question

will most surely be

He played his strings through me

revealed my symphony

The wheel was my father's

and mine was the stick