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