Mocked By The Clock
Its passing around, It's gonna come back. Its passed back around, I'm sure its passed me now.
I'm swallowing my younger years while kissing my own ass early. I thought if I truly believed in something, I could make it real. Now I don't know what to believe. I hope someone can hear me. Whoever is there hear me now. My broken dreams can always be mended. Please remove the shell from the thread. As we sulk over the pieces, I will remember the trigger is in our heads. Its just same the old sad sad story. I let new air in but the same person passes through the net. It's always the same in the pit isn't it? How could the tortured breathe new breathes? For the life of me I can't remember if Iíll survive or not.
Still it repeats, over and over again.
I can no longer smell the nostalgia or remember the shades. A variety of shapes cast vacant amongst the distance. A palette of colors I no longer remember holding. Mentality so weak. I dream blackness nothing moves. Indeed I have aged, for I lie incompetent, suspended for years. I have not matured. My spirit unprevailing. As my soul sinks deep inside of me. I am caught in a web of survival. One day the truth will come. For now no light cast through the black.
For how could the tortured breathe new breathes?
I repeat. I am doomed to repeat.