It brings a whole new meaning to “breaking down the walls” when they’re made of glass and you can see right through them. These walls have ears and these walls have eyes and if they could speak, all they’d say was “Shut up (stained glass breaks inwards)!” Until they were tinted blue in the face. So, rocks are thrown in the form of innocent conjecture and cloying nausea in the pit of your stomach, that you clutch with sweaty palms, doubled over in self-righteous pain. And if these walls could talk, all they’d say was “Welcome home.” Your eyes are squinted. You can’t see the cracks in the walls. You can’t see the forest for the trees, coming down around you. Calling “Timber,” falling down around you.
Lyrics submitted by PLANES