Is this all we get from life?
Become skeletons and die.
And in the end, do we repent for all our sins?
Or just remain, six feet under dirt, recycled trash for the earth?
Is it even worth it, knowing everything will eventually fade to black?
That we're destined to become parts of other people's pasts?
These years pass right by me, I have nothing to say.
The clock is just a constant reminder, of the seconds ticking away.
And I'm still burning out my father's flame, and counting days.
Until I find that wisdom lost inside that summer haze.
And I'm just scared that my present will not escape my past.
The future's getting closer, but the view is blurred behind the glass.
And I'm content with life, but so discontent at the same time.
I wonder why it doesn't bother me to think of death.
To know that there's a way out, when it seems as if there's nothing left.
We are the same, holding each other's promises to an empty grave.
And I end up in the same place.
You wonder why I can't change the way I think inside my mind.
I swear I've tried.
We both know this isn't the way, that this should be.
I can't escape this feeling.

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