Pictures on the bare brick wall that
fall into the atmosphere
surround me with a lifeless glow
and I don't want to be in here,but
the angels will not let me go and
so I stay alone in fear and
settle down to watch the show.

I see the young the old,the few I knew,
the Titanic in its infancy,the music playing
mournfully as it sank beneath the
cold grey sea,
the eyes that shed their tears for me,
the beggars in their poverty
the lines that took the trains away
the burning of the books that night,the
ash of bodies burned that day
and still the pictures come to me
on bare bleak walls they run to me
where air guitars still strum to me
these brick walls hold no fun for me
as if I'm the one who's falling free
and painted on a picture frame in
Gothic script
I read my name.