Tacit acquiescence quaintly burns till we acquire
A pride in all the work we have not done
Begging retired accusations we sickly string ourselves along
Rightly fighting for a future free from formless ire
How the desperate long to be enthralled
We bite the mouths off our emotions
And light the days on fire
Choking under gathering smoke we crawl
Through the fetid on and onning
Drifting in a mire
It helps to feel those brighter days are gone
Savor the power of revision
The hurt returns a liar
Mindful of a tedium prolonged
Wistful with a withering tongue
Grown and wrong
Surviving the close calls
While we're always revising our roles
Seizing the ceasing now
As our aims miss our goals
We size up our downfalls
While we undress the pessimist's pose
Our tattered yes and nos
It only matters that we chose
As the surgeon's scalpel's dulling the patient should inquire
If this instrument is worth its salt
Still he insists on this incision
The situation's dire
Slicing out the faults right from wrong
Is there a chance this cancer still belongs
Sponge the inhibition keeps the host feeling too strong
Surviving the close calls
While we're always revising our roles
Seizing the ceasing now
As our aims miss our goals
We size up our downfalls
While we undress the pessimist's pose
Our tattered yes and nos
What matters
We're surviving the close calls
While we're always revising our roles
Seizing the ceasing now
As our aims miss our goals
We size up our downfalls
While we undress the pessimist's pose
Our tattered yes and nos
It only matters that we chose