The handle on the door you cannot touch
The knot in the wood you cannot cut
good thing we had too much

Smoke is rising above
The fire's getting hotter in the wind
And your coal blackened eyes looking on,
Going blind

The splinter deep inside your second skin
The prince is feeling nothing underneath
And I wonder does it even feel the same.

Everybody's asking when you're [bad word] back
and you (I'll?) tell them that you're sorry
but you're frozen in your tracks;
the fox is in the headlights,
never knowing it is wrong
staring down the righteous road
it's lonely and it's long.

Photographs and pictures that we drew
remind us that we won't be going through
and I wonder do they even look the same
I wonder do they even look the same?

Now it's going faster
and we're stuck here in this place
the water's getting deeper
cutting lines into my face
the lights are out and broken
it looks different in the dark
they're out there setting fires,
kill the means to make your mark.

Another slippery stone
We thought that it was dry
and flat enough to stand and [bad word] until we die
we don't really know
we think that we are wise
deaf and dumb and blind,
we think that we have eyes.