Congratulations are in order You made it out alive You don't have to have a conscience I'll be far out of your sight Counting all the things I have done
I'll greet the sun today, barely standing on my own two feet. But if there's a truth to find: I will find it. I've seen saints become abandonment and
This room revolves at 33 RPMs And this broken record is all I?ve got These crooked walls are all I have left to protect me From the pain that waits outside
Lift my head and see it through Because I don?t know what else to do Everything else just goes wrong All I can do is write these songs (And this song?
Sit down if it suits you, darling. Pour yourself a drink. Because nothing gets you down when you're too drunk to think. I've got a two ton iron weight
You're too young to let this city destroy you And you're too old to be afraid. Don't believe the hype; we've so much left to live for. You're much too
My faith is only here in jest. Inside: the same spiraling stupor. I can't help but think that this all will end with me letting myself down. I get used
The biting, blowing cold Cuts directly to my soul My circulation slows And I feel old Until the spring I'll be hating everything Without a song to sing
It's time to make something out of nothing. It's time to stop complaining. It's time to leave this fucking grief miles behind. There's nothing worth
I understand what you're going through And I wish that I could help you But all we are is hollow If we don't learn to make it full I know it's hard to
When it's light we are defined. Everything exposed but what we hide. Now is the time to come unfurled. Swallow down your pride and let it go. There will
My frustration is a product of biotic routine, And so is the faith that puts you down on your knees. You can sail that ship the width of oceans and sounds
Looking back today at songs I wrote in this notebook: They were all for you. Looking back today at a history of forty pages. This will be the last one
My mind's at home here in this cold November breeze. This frost, it stabs my skin, and grays the branches of these trees. My breath is a ghost as it wafts
I'm drunk on the vestiges of a dying scene What's left: impressions of what it really means. To be a part of something bigger than the system that unjustly
This demeanor is the sum of foolish dreams And all the smiles for which I've fallen This crooked grin is for the eyes that trod my heart And for the many
We've walked too far to fall to our knees. If there's an answer, it's lost on me. Is freedom so abstract that it can't be found without keeping someone
This winter's filled with thoughts of you All the same reminders; all the heartache we've been through I shudder when I think back to those days It was
