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.
