When we were young
and innocent
-oh, innocent, how long has it been?-
The world was clear and bright
happy and full of shining white light
We always wished to be older
and darker and colder
The world was perfect, but we were blind
for in front of our eyes
was clear, perfect glass



Then we grew
a little bit more
and we stretched and yawned,
and opened our eyes
to the bright yellow sun
But what did we see?
Instead of the perfect world
that once was clear and full of hope
we saw it.
In front of our eyes
there was a line of black
in our glass, was a crack
It turned the world into fragments
the good and the bad
Or the clean and the filthy
The crack was curved,
and only took a small part of our vision
Our innocence still reigned
But every day was pained
by the growing blemish, spreading lines over our world
and taking innocence
from every boy and girl



Then, struggling to see
and the webbed glass there
we became adapted to it
We no longer care
We don't care that we cannot be free
of our mind, that has been dirtied and dyed
So we ignore
the webs of spidery silk and dust
creeping in on us
until one day
we wake up,
stretch, groan, and yawn
expecting to see the fragmented sun
that has become the norm
and the usual for our world
to be different, warped and swirled
but instead, what do we see?
The web of black and white
of darkness and of fright
has encroached
it has spread so now, our innocence is
gone. At most.
The glass is shattered and no longer clear
so now we see the world through dirtied eyes
that can only see death, filth, dirt, and demise
Blood and dust,
coal and fire
lust and desire
no more is our vision except that of
a dirty mind
and a brain that seems to have been hypnotized



It's only so long
until the last piece of web
finally will spread
and the pieces will explode in a shower
for we have played with too much power.
We have tampered with love
much too young
and the smoke of cigarettes blocks the sun
must we play, with our fingers over the fire?
And feel lust, despair and desire
Not yet! Not yet!
Now is not for problems, simple or complex
Nor drugs and cigarettes and sex
Does the web in the glass
have to grow?
Can't it shrink
so maybe we can see
how we're SUPPOSED to think?



We are so lost
no longer our selves
its almost as if
we are only hollow shells.
The shards will fly
no more will we see
the fragmented sky
and no more hope
and no more nice
Just shards
of us.