I don’t sit here and imagine perfect vistas,
Places that don’t seem to exist outside my head.
Recalling all the times I bumped into fate unprepared,
Memories of tracks you can’t replay, the station is dead.
Don’t stumble in my path,
Don’t tell me your darkest fears,
Don’t you dare tumble my heart,
When endings and motives are so unclear.
I don’t go around asking you to save my life,
Because I know the tools are buried in myself, within,
I can help you and will, but then forget I exist.
To be without longing is to be without future sin.