Three lay upon a small grass patch / As if sleeping rough / With no haven to be found.

Seven days into the new Spring / They knew they'd have to leave / But no one could guess how.

Were they pushed beyond reason?

Father, mother and step-son / Together they did plunge / From a tower deep in the sky.

Blood spilled upon a road named Red / Did the thought enter their heads / As they came from high?

Did they live beyond reason?

Were they pushed or pulled to the grass / Where flowers and candles now lie / Were their counterparts identified / That their panic and fear is like ours / Where their chase, like cat and mouse / Ran out of corridors to be run down...

They're always chasing you down...

Always...

Chasing you down...