Of all the things you gave away, of all those that led you astray
Could one thing more have tipped the scale, and stayed until your dying day?
Of all the strangers that you meet, could you tell me why it happened to be that all of those knowing left unassured, and the only stranger left was me?
Boarded up inside the past, nothing stays nothing lasts, so why keep the sea and move to land, watch all your days deplete so fast?

There are reasons tomorrow will come to give the regrets of today.
There are reasons the sun will show to relate to the darkening days.
There's a point for those who die when you step, but never forward.
There's a point made--for whom we die, we never seemed to live for.
(I can't let go, I can't deny. I can't give back or say goodbye. All wishes made, all desperate cries, the only stars have cleared the sky. Look for a path, look for a way to fashion life without the pain, and dance with all upon my grave. "He's one that could never be saved.")


Can't forgive and won't forget actions gone and those that yet have come to be a factor which could easily factor regret.
And why would one be stubborn for the loss of less and losing more, and anyone would be the same when so introvertedly borne.
Open arms for something else to end upon and wake the spell of times that came and went away, nightmarish scenes known all too well.

There are reasons that we can't explain why fortune's so misunderstood.
There are reasons that we can't retain, why misfortune is so understood.
(Mychest it moves so rapidly from up and down, but still can't breathe. Filled with hate and filled with greed, breathing's the last thing we'll need.)

Why can't you come to bury this, deeply cast off, slowly dismiss? You can't do yourself any good out to preserve and reminisce.
And you can't disregard and you can't disguise the marching pulse, the bloodshot eyes, and breath of lifeless empathy, my frozen hands, my failing knees.
And why is it that whenever I scream, you won't turn your head, you won't even seem alive to me now if ever you did 'cause it's wrong to go thinking, it's wrong of us to dream.