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(One)
There was a glass-man named
Sir Nothing Nor Anything,
And one day he pristined
The perfect glass figurine.
She stood on two
With ballet shoes,
And see-through hair
Her shoulders bare.
Since then heâs closed his blinds
With her remaining inside,
The people call his name
Keeps silent he all the same.
And in the dark
A fires spark,
Refracts through legs
Of perfect shape.
Wherever we fall with all thatâs shattered around
The broken glass will surely follow.
And when we hit the ground all that keeps raining down
Is all the glass we couldnât swallow.
(Three)
With pitchforks and the torch
The people broke down his door,
And when they flooded in
They cried âa man full of sinâ.
So he climbed up
To roofing top,
And kissed her hair
And then they leapt to air.
Wherever we fall with all thatâs shattered around
The broken glass will surely follow.
And when we hit the ground all that keeps raining down
Is all the glass we couldnât swallow.