Here in a temporary space of time, I watch from the astral plain myself on the inside
It doesn’t add up I guess I’m not who I thought, what am I even looking at am I this lost
Can you imagine if you read the end first, would it make the decisions we’ve made even worse?
Would it take us back make us question ourselves? If the future left images in dust on the shelves
What am I waiting for where should I go?
What difference does it make once you really know?
What time will it take, what will it take from me
What does it matter when you can never break free?
Now Im chained down in one spot repeating, there is never ending torture and joy is always fleeting
Taking record of my failures and regrets, whether or not they have even happened yet
Ticking away as simultaneously still, like being born to be led to the kill
Obsess with the past you will be doomed to repeat, and stagger in the pattern of your own feet
What am I waiting for where should I go?
What difference does it make once you really know?
What time will it take, what will it take from me
What does it matter when you can never break free?
Drifting through futures of pasts I have forgotten, lost and transfixed in the way time has blossomed
Looking for an explanation of the present, but as soon as I learn subsequently, I forget
The minutes have turned on me pointing the hand, the hour is slipping away where I stand
And perception starts dripping and melting away, as I wake up to having had lost another day
What am I waiting for where should I go?
What difference does it make once you really know?
What time will it take, what will it take from me
What does it matter when you can never break free?
Here in a vacuum devoid of all time, I stare at my face I cant seem to recognize
The aging, the youth, the changes brand new, what I’ve lost in myself can I look for in you?
The silence is broken and still turns to movement, so caught in the present so caught in the moment
Just before the hour glass shatters on the floor, I finally realize why time always keeps score
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