Days pass in symmetry, hollow hopes are all I see and the monotony disgusts me.
I am forever plagued by neglected change but I don't want these days, just want to push away.
Tell me are you an open man, or do you hold your hands where no one can see them, and do I care to know?
Because I don't ever feel the need to talk to you about anything and I think I know what you want etched on your grave: "I stood by my mistakes." I know you don't feel the way I do, and I don't want you to because then I couldn't hold this misery like a trophy.
I couldn't feel alone, couldn't feel elite in my grief.
How many times have you laid in bed, slept through the night without a thought in mind?
You see it's not the pain that I'm afraid of, no it's that constant threat of wasting time.
And they always say that I could be getting more out of this but what's the fucking point?
Don't want to give up hope but I think I caught the disease of this generation, of inconsistency.
Ennui and apathy overtake me, because I believe in no mysteries, just locks and keys and the crumbling ground beneath my feet.
I don't think I'll ever understand myself but I'll always try, yeah I'll always try to sing that song like I won't regret it and hum that hymn like I was born to believe it.