Walking on thin ice again I feel the sun on my back and wonder when I will crack?
My luck's been hard for so long I sit and wait to loose, cursing my good fortune.
I've died a thousand psychological deaths, I've lost my innocence and pride.
What is worth the argument, if I haven't even my pride?
I can feel the sun on my back again, but the sun is too warm, and I am cracking up again.
From under the ice I feel no pride, and I know my luck has run out.
Good fortune has gone in my stride.