e non avere mai le mani fredde, e non finire mai le sigarette --

so, so you think you can tell heaven from Hell, blue skies from pain. can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? a smile from a veil? do you think you can tell? and did they get you trade your heroes for ghosts? hot ashes for trees? hot air for a cool breeze? cold comfort for change? and did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage? how I wish, how I wish you were here.
we're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year, running over the same old ground. what have we found? the same old fears, wish you were here.