I'm on the outside walking away
Running out of places I want to be
Don't mean to sound so insincere but I never wished that you were here
What's the point in holding on when branches break?
Where has my passion run off to now?
Is it chasing dead dreams in my head?
Where's the heart and all the hope that I had two years ago?
They'll find their way back in the end
"Spread your wings," they say, "and you will find your place to be"
Guess I'll rest my broken neck at the bottom of the tree
And if weeks turn into months, will you still remember me?
Or am I just the face that haunts you in your sleep?
This is my closing argument
Make peace with yourself in the end
If you can't come to terms with it
Let it go and let this/me in
Who will be there in the end?
We'll never know it
I guess we'll have to wait till then