Is this really how it's meant to be?
Like a train on a track?
How could I have known the consequences?
Of burning the searchlights?
Burning the bridges?
and I'm just sitting here, playing with the matches.
What have I become?
A martyr for my own emotion?
An automaton to keep it in?
The flickering sunset and the frolicking moon.
The scenery is nothing.
The serpents bury me in a coffin of guilt.
Chasing illusions of rescue.
The time is now to put out the fires.
To mend up the searchlights.
To rebuild the bridges.
and I'm just sitting here, picking up the pieces of hope.