Gla**house Ten years in the gla**house. And we're busy counting bruises, and watch the stones go cruising by. They're just whizzing past our heads, and we're still standing here, tied on a thread, stretched beyond our limits. Beyond my limit. And I'd surely love to reach out and touch you, but it's suicide. And now I'm watching your reflection, cos I can't look in your eyes. And I'm burning. Just burning up on the inside. It's so very very cold here. So very very cold here. And I doubt if things will ever change.