My stars are all out of their frigid, white fire. Every night I drive home lonesome, weary, and tired, and the skies are pitch black because nobody cares. As I drive all alone, the world unaware. I promise myself that its just for awhile. That I'll quit both my jobs and come back with a smile to the life I was living with friends and the stars. With friends and some hope that might cover the scars. Not heal them or hide them thats not what I meant. More like let me get by them, past remorse and lament. But instead I keep trudging on, days start to blend, to the point where time starts to contort and to bend and to leave me in places surrounded by past and to take me towards future so start'lingly fast that I cant get it together the way that I ought and the battles are lost before they even are fought and I'm losing the track of my life and my rhymes and suddenly I notice that Im all out of time.