It's time to make something out of nothing. It's time to stop complaining. It's time to leave this fucking grief miles behind. There's nothing worth
When it's light we are defined. Everything exposed but what we hide. Now is the time to come unfurled. Swallow down your pride and let it go. There
My mind's at home here in this cold November breeze. This frost, it stabs my skin, and grays the branches of these trees. My breath is a ghost as it
We've walked too far to fall to our knees. If there's an answer, it's lost on me. Is freedom so abstract that it can't be found without keeping someone
I understand what you're going through And I wish that I could help you But all we are is hollow If we don't learn to make it full I know it's hard to
This demeanor is the sum of foolish dreams And all the smiles for which I've fallen This crooked grin is for the eyes that trod my heart And for the
This winter's filled with thoughts of you All the same reminders; all the heartache we've been through I shudder when I think back to those days It was
It seems so clinical; the things we do are minimal. Half-heart smiles and token wit, But we're not saying shit. Our eyes bat back and forth, we're physical
I'm drunk on the vestiges of a dying scene What's left: impressions of what it really means. To be a part of something bigger than the system that unjustly
The biting, blowing cold Cuts directly to my soul My circulation slows And I feel old Until the spring I'll be hating everything Without a song to sing
: The biting, blowing cold Cuts directly to my soul My circulation slows And I feel old Until the spring I'll be hating everything Without a song to
: When it's light we are defined. Everything exposed but what we hide. Now is the time to come unfurled. Swallow down your pride and let it go. There
: We've walked too far to fall to our knees. If there's an answer, it's lost on me. Is freedom so abstract that it can't be found without keeping someone
: This demeanor is the sum of foolish dreams And all the smiles for which I've fallen This crooked grin is for the eyes that trod my heart And for the
: I'm drunk on the vestiges of a dying scene What's left: impressions of what it really means. To be a part of something bigger than the system that
: My mind's at home here in this cold November breeze. This frost, it stabs my skin, and grays the branches of these trees. My breath is a ghost as it
: It seems so clinical; the things we do are minimal. Half-heart smiles and token wit, But we're not saying shit. Our eyes bat back and forth, we're
: I understand what you're going through And I wish that I could help you But all we are is hollow If we don't learn to make it full I know it's hard
