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 $#&@ing 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 $#&@ing gave a %#@!, 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.