at 6:15am, I wake up from the same nightmare again
it's that one where i'm 100 years old and living alone
without love
everything I had was dressed and draped in velvet
back, and words in the sky asked, "where do we go
after the sun goes down?"
staring at myself, I rub my hands again my face
as if the answer would come if I pusehd hard enough
is it cliché to ask for a sign?
am i doing something right?
is this really the punch line?
can it be true that now, the joke is on us this time
a common mistake we often make is that we think there
is a finish line
I really used to think that my story would go, "and
then, and then, and then"
I kept waiting for the beggining to end
I kept waiting for something to happen
I don't want to turn the page if I know how it ends
I already know the opponent wins, so what's the
point?
our time has one foot in the grave, so bury me now and
forever erase my name from each page
there's a checklist in my pocket with none of the
boxes marked, and it's too late for me to start
can it be true that now, the joke is on us this time
a common mistake we often make is that we think there
is a finish line
what if this is a good as it gets?
and in the end, we aren't left with answers.
We're left with choices
