Will I feel regret? Will I know what I feel at all?
I've never learned to understand myself without
Screaming into friends' and strangers' faces,
Temper tantrums with an audience--just a spoiled child
With a God complex
And like my heroes, I'm obsessed with earning a good death
Anything worth loving shouldn't last forever
The best stories have their endings written from the start
The last step planned before the first
And my feet are getting tired
Will I feel remorse for the parts I've lost along the way?
The broken, the discarded, the stolen,
Bled out, wrapped up, fixed, replaced
I measured the years in set lists and demo tapes
And even I'm surprised how many songs I have survived
Despite how hard I've tried
My body betrays me like I thought
Only a lover could
How can I know that when I come home from this
I'll be the same person who left?
Will I be lost at sea while someone I don't know
Sleeps in a grave meant for me?
Are the discarded pieces who I am, who I was, or who I'm meant to be:
A spoiled child with a God complex
Who never got his good death?
It's only the ends that give us meaning
Only in death do we have names