I'm begging for the writer to put down his pen and try to just let us have this one last happy ending. I'm dealing with heat; Smoke's rolling off the thick concrete. Is this the last time that I'll get to see you? Our time could tell revelations of the hate that swells. Riots find the shortest root from start to ending. So here we go, we'll find salvation on our own. Reset the scoreboards with our hearts, and put a number on the backbone of what's rights. We're tumbling down. My mind's become the record it's skipping like a stone. We're cowering down. Your hands are tied together, there's no way to have known. I seem to keep repeating the methods of breaking silence. Breaking silence will kill me. I'll split my ribs and blead with this. We'll die with the emotions: the love and hate we know. I dream of statues fit to hold the life on my own.

I was waiting for the cold air and the ice to freeze the pond west of the trumpeter. I remember the chill of a bite on the back of my throat. Headphones on a road trip keep my mind frozen like the water. While in search through my empty daft mind. How could I leave catastrophe? I forgot where I could find you. Now I need a place to be the end-game torture. So now I'm staring through the pouring rain with a lot to lose, and I'm still selfish. I am the end game torture. We can't look back.

We're alive so we fight. I swear that we could reach the skyline. Retrace the path we've walked so we can fight the fires, and we can find out how combatable they are. I think it's me; I'm the disease. Take time to recognize the life we hold. We're losing it all. We've watched walk right past us. This is something unfamiliar. It stopped us cold. Thirty nights from who we are, we're on our way back home. We'll see the faces of the reasons why depend on growth.

I awoke to rain. Pit patter on the window. I awoke to the same old thing. I lost control and started falling. These dreams just torment my dilemma; Recede my seething tongue. Somehow we found the piercing lights that strike us in the morning. Redressed distress forfeits to misery. Somehow we've drowned. Bone dry but filling up the coffers. With less confessed, we find that truth won't fit this. I can't leave these conventions with red blood on my hands. I awoke to pain. Hammered out are the windows. I awoke to the shame and sting. I felt so cold I started calling for the life I was meant to take deceiving my long lost chance at pride. We're in this marathon racing forward, and I've made the first mistake for we bleed the gasoline. With the balled up fists you had and the rhythm that you new. So what's the point of this if we never meant to show. We live between the lines of what we've sacrificed and what we have to gain. I'm looking for the separation; I'm looking for the reasons why. I'm looking for the separation of what we've left behind. Smoke and mirrors paint the same things so we'll set the fire to the gasoline.

I'm solid on the stand still. Writing the lines until I get there. Fighting the right to be the suspect in the rotten lie you rode. I'm falling like the anvil, no stopping the weight I have beneath me. I'll flatten the ones who stand before me. I'm the falling black anvil. Are you ready to breath control? We'll disconnect the fault lines in our hearts. And roll on the diver; he deserves the least of what's been done. We stand on a river that flows through what was home. Can you feel it? The waste of time that's lost? It's coming around. It's not the last chance but I'll take it. If I don't pull the trigger than who will? It's up to us where we the stake in otherwise we're solid on the stand still.

I've seen the wasted work pulled down over us. I've seen the restless lives. Signed checks that hold us back. Struggle week to week. We can't defend these lies. It seems there's never the time. We're chasing dollars til the day we die. No clothes no food. Grind bones to bare for the things we buy. There's no more bleeding without our heats. I feel us slipping. I've seen the thoughtless fight for one while the others rot. Can't blame the ones that died. Focused on the others' prize. Lost all but the ease of greed. We've failed the ones that tried. We're on a roll, falling down toward our fate. We've lost our souls and we can't buy the back. We'll soon be sold. It proves thoughts won't crush the slates. It's not what it is to scream or what it is to burn.