You’re mistaken if you think these stitches will hold us together.

I was born to fly, always running to die.

I speak of death like it means nothing to me.

But it means everything.

The disconnection between my thoughts and what I see.

I’ve never been afraid to die, and that’s what scares me the most.

We’re all just servants to time.

From birth, it continues to exist like a well running dry.

I’m always the one who pulls the plug, no use stopping the inevitable.

Why am I this way?

What ever happened to some clarity?

The hole in my chest stays the same size, but the depth of the unknown grows.

Did you think I wouldn’t notice?

I heard the wind advancing long before it came.

I saw the moon catch fire, tired of putting up a fight.

We made our discreet deal on the dark side.

The devil wasn’t outlined in the details, it was in me.

You doubled back to double-cross me.

And I can resist it all, but temptation.

I’m not afraid of the fire, I’ve been burned.

I’m not afraid of the dust and the dirt, I’ve held myself lower.

Yeah, I’ve been lower.

So let your shadows creep over me while I sleep.

Never found much peace in rest.

Let my skeletons claw their way out of the closet.

I’ve faced worse, I’ve been worse.

And in regards to death: it’s not my time, not yet.

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