They can't decide, are you the sun are you the child? Are you the ashes or the fire? Are you the maker or design?

And will you be a will that's safe or one that's free? A sacred want or careless need? Something to look at not to see.

But your wings will not last, the wax will not hold. And at some point you'll see all you did was get old.

You're a graveyard my love, of all you could be. You are everything you want just not everything you need.

And when you falter, burdened by the choice to care. Weighed by armor that you wear, how much soul is left to bear?

But your wings will not last, the wax will not hold. And at some point you'll see all you did was get old.

You're a graveyard my love, of all you could be. You are everything you want just not everything you need.

Then the skies will start to fall, and your shoulders aren't at all built like Atlas, then you're left to fight the urge to be callous.

Burn the feeling in your mind, you will learn the hell it takes to be this kind.

Will your shoulders hold the sky?

Will you dare again to fly?

So much grief just to be free,

Tortured by what you can be.

Tortured by what you can be.

But your wings will not last, the wax will not hold. And at some point you'll see all you did was get old.

You're a graveyard my love, of all you could be. You are everything you want just not everything you need.

Tortured by what you can be.