This is my book
It is written
In the hands of my guilts and my fears

It records every failure
And describes my jealousy
Its only commandment

That I live each one once again

And the pages will tear

And the spine will be broken
And the words will spill out
And the sentences spoken

And the meaning all lost
And my daemons awoken


Do you want to know?
Do you want to walk the free way?
Do you want to breathe the cold air?

Do you want to touch the burning?
Do you want to feel the slide?


It's no measure of our sanity
Held against the metre of a mad mad world
It's a measure of our vanity

We're looking in the mirror at a sad sad world

Do we feel that there's a cavity?

Something that we're missing in our own small worlds
Was there something in our history
That we've abandoned for our own small world?


I have every member of the human race
To judge myself for and against

My book keeps the records straight
And I must tend it as a garden of black and white