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I write fire in my eyes when the ink doesn't leave the pen.
Just another tired kid with a cut-ties addiction.
So I address the bed and mute the morning,
bite my tongue and choke back bloody slurs.
'Cause there's this one first step that I have taken for granted
and one last move I've designed inside my head.
The crowd is catching on and on and on and on
to the train tracks on my face,
to the redness in my eyes,
Just another tired kid with a cut-ties addiction.
So I address the bed and mute the morning,
bite my tongue and choke back bloody slurs.
'Cause there's this one first step that I have taken for granted
and one last move I've designed inside my head.
The crowd is catching on and on and on and on
to the train tracks on my face,
to the redness in my eyes,
and the time that I've erased from the clock,
as I'd watch the night breathe dawn.
I swore I stole those self-deprecating cries.
I swore I thought nothing of the steps I took
at pretending to move in a forward line.
I just kept walking past the prints I told myself I'd place.
This could have been prevented.
as I'd watch the night breathe dawn.
I swore I stole those self-deprecating cries.
I swore I thought nothing of the steps I took
at pretending to move in a forward line.
I just kept walking past the prints I told myself I'd place.
This could have been prevented.
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