Print

At 6:15AM, I wake up from the same nightmare again. It's that one where I'm 100 years old and living alone without love. Everything I had was dressed and draped in velvet black, and words in the sky asked, "Where do we go after the sun goes down?" Staring at myself, I rub my hands against my face. As if the answer would come if I pushed hard enough. is it cliche to ask for a sign? Am I doing something right? Is this really the punch line? Can it be true that now, the joke is on us this time. A common mistake we often make is that we think there is a finish line. I really used to think that my story would go, "and then, and then, and then," I kept waiting for the beginning to end. I kept waiting for something to happen. I don't want to turn the page if I know how it ends. I already know the opponent wins, so what's the point? Our time has one foot in the grave, so bury me now and forever erase my name from each page. There's a checklist in my pocket with none of the boxes marked, and it's too late for me to start. Can it be truenow, the joke is on us this time. A common mistake we often make is that we think there is a finish line. What if this is as good as it gets? And in the end, we aren't left with answers. We're left with Choices (Thanks to David for these lyrics) From Letras Mania