roaming the land and searching so hard for future fearless freedom finding only the lonely lost calls of the previous moments search and tirelessly trying to trim time off my life through smoke and sin what is this crime I have commited to be commited to this losing hero's death march, as if I could ever get back to where i once belonged? There is a noose hiding in my closet all wrapped up and unmade.

Lighter tones from saxophones the teacher knows the way but I can only just keep up with myself.

I'm tired.