There was a time when I wanted
so much for myself,
when I could see horizons,
when I could see tomorrow.

Have I slipped off the edge,
where the empty people live
and spend their nights trying
to keep their feet warm...the
dance moving and whirling all
around them but never touching.

Who repairs the sickness that
tears the mind away from itself,
who can open the eyes that midnight
has taken over and calls it's own now.

Is there a place where empty people can go,
and not fall through their own hole?

The mountains are harder to climb now.
The valleys not as green as yesterday.
And yet, still I refuse to die like this,
cold, forgotten within my own dreams...

and no feet left to dance, oh how I want to dance.

Who repairs broken minds,
and retrieves lost dreams.

Who will play a waltz for
the feet that can no longer find their song.
It is so cold inside,
there must be a place

where the empty people can go.