We could laugh through Hell, 

wishing everyone well.

We we're running across the dark,

Always leaving our mark.

When reality struck that day,

we ran far away and away.

Far away from the tight glass box,

where they pile up little rocks,

We ran.

Now our tight glass boxes are tighter.

Every time we push the walls we fall.

No one can hear our call.

From the Boxes of Repetition.

That well rules the institution.

Now you're in Columbia,

and I'm here in America. 

Oh, child ever haunting 'bout my soul.

Through which's eyes nothing can be dull,

Leave me in peace to live and die.

Don't let this piece be my goodbye.