Glue
What is it about the outside world that turns me into glue? There's no one here to call on, re-dream of all the lessons; I can't turn into you.
My friends are gone; the hayday's ended; they're all banished from the throne. I've cried far more than I can remember. My heart was stolen too.
Stuck to the window, my eyes are forever watching the world go by. Undressed to remember. Old age has made such an impression.
I watch my ringless hand. I start to feel, to see, what has never happened, as I run free inside of your brain.
So, what is it about the outside world that turns me into glue? You'd have to walk outside, knowing I'm in it too.