| (It is, in the end, whatever the Hell I want it to be,
|
| And when I’m through with it, it’s gonna blow a hole,
|
| This wide, straight through the worlds own idea of itself.
|
| They’re throwing bottles at your house.
|
| Come on, lets go break their arms.)
|
| You talk about the way things were,
|
| But I can’t hear what you’re saying.
|
| A time when life was not this hard,
|
| Blessed by the innocence.
|
| Is the best yet to come?
|
| Or did it pass by long ago?
|
| Are we holding on to a thread,
|
| Of something already dead?
|
| I’m not your reason to stand up straight,
|
| Shoulders back, chest out, and eyes raised.
|
| Stepping back, I hesitate.
|
| I can’t let myself be taken.
|
| Is the best yet to come?
|
| Or did it pass by long ago?
|
| Are we holding on to a thread,
|
| Of something already dead?
|
| You can’t change your mind, expect me to care.
|
| You can’t just snap your fingers and expect me to be there.
|
| Can’t just change your mind.
|
| The reception fades, the signals breaking up.
|
| And am I moving on or am I giving up?
|
| If you walk away from this with anything,
|
| Live your life today. |