Sunken are the eyes of my creation into a gla** 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