They flutter behind you, your possible pasts
Some brighteyed and crazy, some frightened and lost
By the cold and religious, we were taken in hand
Shown how to feel good, and told to feel bad
Tongue tied and terrified, we learnt how to pray
Now our feelings run deep, and cold as the clay
And strung out behind us the banners and flags
Of our possible pasts lie in tatters and rags
[OK I didn't write this, but I wish I did]