Though no-one can tell it's causing your Hell, this is because you hide it so well. Just like how she lives in a town filled With glass houses, but keeps her bucket of Rocks in the basement. Then she puts another bouquet at the side of the highway, where The rails cross over the road. And she's so unsure that if she takes my hand, all pale and white, And she takes my love, so brilliant bright, And she waits like death by my side... will the answers come easy? And it's oh so true that no-one really Knows you because you've just pretended too long. With only ten fingers to point, The eleventh failure is my own. but i remain part of the botched And bungled. and she's still unsure... In between the right and wrong and Weak and strong and queer and straight and the love and hate, There are a million shades of gray.