(two, three, four) The spoon split, the silver bled, a hollow man stood where I fled... The rain it knocked, so soft, so grim, a voice I knew, though none but him (THE SMALLS pull me down)... I traced the cracks along the glass, each fracture line of the past... The world is gray, the world is kind, it lets me kneel, it keeps me blind (THE SMALLS)... Let THE SMALLS pull me down, where the faithful wear their crowns... Where the lost can hum a tune, to the phone beneath more spoons (five, six, seven)... The clock still moves, though not for we, Its hands are tied, its time is free... Each thought’s a snail, it waits, it feeds, it sings songs I used to need (THE SMALLS pull me down)... They built a duchy from the dust, of names I held, of love, of trust... The pitch dropped through, the thread unwound... And still, I walk, yet make no sound (THE SMALLS)... If this is living, let it be... A prayer, a sigh, in a minor key... Saint Elmo speaks, fire calls my name... But leaves me standing just the same... Let THE SMALLS pull me down, where the faithful wear their crowns... Where the lost can hum a tune, to the phone beneath more spoons (eight, nine, ten)... Let THE SMALLS pull me down, Where the lost can hum a tune, The spoons split (THE SMALLS pull me down)...