There's a place in it, made of glass; war-torn, cracked and shattered.
The fragments in pieces; they bleed the soul so deserved.
On it the letters, each one so tattered,
but it was so beautiful it was never so intended.
For all we've been through we laughed, we cried, we struggled.
And all it comes to this, we wondered.
Why on earth, we bothered.
Good Grieve! We're both, Retarded....
