|
Two ways to choose, |
|
On a razor's edge, |
|
Remain behind, |
|
Go straight ahead. |
|
Room full of people, room for just one, |
|
If I can't break out now, the time just won't come. |
|
Watch me unwind. |
|
Rejected and depressed. |
|
Everything I am I hate. |
|
Confused, directionless. |
|
Knowing this is all we had. |
|
Existing on best terms we can until |
|
Death takes us from our own fucking hands. |
|
But nothing can touch us now. |
|
I tell myself that I know I don't want to be the man who tells stories |
|
Of the all things that were ripped from my hands before I truly grasped them and I know if we shutdown in stages then let this be the last time |
|
That I ever fucking gave a shit, with my head in my hands, I never meant anything more than this, |
|
This is the story of permanence. |
|
This is the story of unchained momentum |
|
This is the story of everything, we ever wanted |