''{Spoken, imitating the changing of radio stations}''
''"...Disciplinary it remains mercifully."
"Yes, and then... Derek, this star nonsense."
"Yes, yes."
"Now which is it?"
"I'm sure of it."'' [[#Notes|1]]
So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell, blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground. What have we found? The same old fears.
Wish you were here.