Secret and black poetry

So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
blue skys 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 heros 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...