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Bill Bruford
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Gothic 17
Snow falling all around
And in the darkened house
The little boy daren't make a sound
His parents whispering outside the door
He plans the day when they won't be there anymore
They're telling him this
They're telling him that
You'll never predict
The way that he might react
He's lost in a maze
Of difficult days
He's sinking too fast
He's walking on broken glass
Speak softly to the child
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For inbetween his head and racing heart
Lies something wild
No sense in shouting he can't hear for the noise
He plays with fire, broken glass twisted tin, broken toys
They're telling him this
They're telling him that
You'll never predict
The way that he might react
He's lost in a maze
Of difficult days
He's sinking too fast
He's walking on broken glass
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