In the clock tower walls
Like an infant he crawls
To the cabinet to search for salvation

And as the hour is late
The witches relate
To his affinity for mixing drops of poison

And by the birds first morning call
He hasn't slept at all
Tears fall when he's forced to face his own reflection

Oh, but how could he change
When nothing stands in his way?
His life is empty like riding on the last tram

He's fallen out of touch

And fantasies of some past life
Haunt him like so many sprites
Who's wings buzz to the fatal tune of times passing

Like a pallbearеr he mourns
Convinced he wеars a crown of thorns
But in reality he's just some vagrant
Who's forgotten how to love
Forgotten how to heal
Forgotten how to feel anything besides surrender

Oh, it's God's wicked game
To take all of those away
Once you've finally won the race that you trained for

Have you fallen out of touch?