Was the wind whipping you all around?



Lost souls they travel through the air on pulleys and string



It's a puppet show



You just hold on tight to what you know



But nothing's in control



When you're seventeen 



And wandering through cathedral shame



With your stained-glass visions 



Of a world outside you cannot gage



And your wild street dreams  



The cameras rolling, microphones just out of frame



The marching band has left the stands



And the parade is underway...



See how all the rooftops drop 'neath its balloons



No walls can hope to hold you now



No more delivery room...