Behind the old walls there’s a mirror,
hanging in the balance/
It serves as a connection, a sharing of prospectives, between the past and the present/
And I often found myself there,
standing stock-still, staring into that mirror/
At the reflection of a boy once forced
Into regression, into his own liminal existence
deep within himself/ It was behind the old walls, where he remained for years/
High up on the shelf, protecting his story/
From the oppressive structure of that broken home/