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.