Wrapped up in dry papers, your wings injected with fear. Tied to your bones your taken to the rear. Bounded by iron locks, they cut of your hair. Strapped down to the stones, too cold to care. Cry the clouds out of heaven. They will meet the wall, scars that no one knows. Vultures are eager when you let them lose. Wrapped up in dry papers, paralysed for years. Gashes are ruling, 'till green anger appears. Cry the clouds out of heaven. Splintered mirrors don't reflect, silent witness. Splintered mirrors don't reflect, silent witness. (Babs)
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