Faces at a window, fingers clutching at the bars. A fly skips from an
eyebrow to an elbow, across a scar. And stars are laughing as the
wind bites - doesn't leave a mark... because the Tower stands
impregnable - a beacon in the dark.
And no-one names a crime committed, no-one blames a soul. Their cases
heard so long ago - forget about parole. And faculties are failing
because they're really rather old. And sick. And tired, much too
jaded. How they weep, cos how they hate it.
Sky dye on her fingers. The air was turning blue, as captain
whispered, 'Blindfold's optional - you wouldn't like the view! She
shook her head and shouted back, "I'd like to see this through." Then
joined the line of hostages - was 13th in the queue.
Rusty chains and armoured pillows stuffed with silver pins.
Collecting lives like butterflies, keep them all locked in. Tattoo
with a star, write a number on the chin... It's not for turning.
Slowly learning. Stomach churns, the fire's burning... No-one has the
key to the Tower.
And if you listen carefully, you'll hear a baby cry. Torn screaming
from her mother's womb - the lady nearly died. But the torment never
stops, it's written right across the eyes of George and Jeannie,
Charlotte, Renie, Uncle Geoff, Cousin Julie, Audrey, Johnny, Andy,
Mandy, Algernon. And Barbarella, Shelly, Napoleon. Winston, April,
Philip, Roland, Barry, Sally, Patrick, Me! Me! Mimi...