If you should go skating on 'The Thin Ice' of modern life...

(A song about a white padded room)

So your hair is going grey, and your only 22.
Must be all of that dust that has settled on you.
But don't cry that it's lonely, because they're coming for you.

Sunlight creeps through a crack in the blind.
A beam to emphasise space and time.
And you try to occupy it, but you haven't got a clue.
So don't try, just cry that it's lonely, because they're coming for you.

And you've stopped trying to sell the time that you bought.
Rigor mortis from the death of thought.
Lack of why, and no more reasons to find something new.
And you try to ignore it, but they're coming for you.

And don't cry that you're lonely, because I'm coming for you...