Dismay takes hold of your throat until the only thing real is the lack of conscious and it's persistence in ending the vitality of what was once a spectacular presence.

Waiting for a chance that things could change or spend another night among the dead. Cause I cursed my lonely memory with picture-perfect imagery. Maybe I'm not dying, I'm just living in decaying cities, but I'm still healthy, I'm still fine. I'll be spending my time readin' the obituaries.

 

Traveling: I always stop at exits wondering if I'll stay. Young and restless, living this way I stress less. Everyone noticed, everyone has seen the signs, I've always been known to cross lines. 'Jesus' don't love me, no one ever carried my load, I'm too young to feel this old. Skies they blink at me, I see a storm bubbling up from the sea.

And it's coming closer.