(Hammill, Part ii: Vanblow)
I never thought it could come to this,
As you sit there crying,
Hanging on with your fingertips
To something that's already dead.
Now we're into a game
And it's all a bit strange.
Once on a time we were sincere;
Now, we're acting charades,
Hiding behind cracked images
From other people's stages;
Now, we're into a game,
And it's all a bit strange,
But familiar, too...
The rules never change; I know it, but do you?
I've seen it all before,
And this play no longer moves me,
But the closing of a door
Is never easy.
