On Tuesday morning, 22nd of July

I tend my resignation, walk out to the street

I decide to stop feeling hopeless, and admit defeat

I draw the poisonous air into my meaningless lungs

And gaze up at the windows lit up high above the slums

And think of all that life there, piled up like shit in a stable

Drenched in the blood of Abel, so nothing ever grows

And I am tired of listening

To the sound of your laughter

Let me deliver my lines and leave

Like a bit-part actor, pacing in the wings

Waiting for a cue, but no one ever comes to ush you in

In the end, it is down to you

In the end, it is down to you

I watch the narrative fade, right off the page

I watch my friends grow up and grow apart

Grow cynical with age

I watch the new generation that was taken our place

And I couldn't recognize what I'd become

And on Sunday morning, 27th of July

I woke up from a nightmare and I wanted so to die

I saw every opportunity that ever passed me by

There in your cold blue eyes

I saw it crystallize, a place where nothing grows

And I am tired of listening

To the sound of your laughter

Let me deliver my lines and leave

Like a bit-part actor, pacing in the wings

Waiting for a cue, but no one ever comes to ush you in

In the end, it is down to you

In the end, it is down to you

In the end, it is down to you