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