here i sit, looking forward - contrary to what is habitual to me.
still, i wonder -
did we squander the hours that were worthwhile to us?
did we watch ourselves pass through time?
is this me, this flesh, or do i watch from somewhere else, controlling it?
this strange abstraction, distant philosophy.
sometimes the things and the people i face seem so unreal.
sometimes, i know i'll pass through them untouched.
i worry that others will suffer more at my hands than i do.
inwardly, i know this to be true, like you.
wasting your life waiting for me
waiting your life wasting for me
is it true?
all fingers, all paths seem to point to the same place,
and i watch as the faces grow old waiting for me to come around.
i just have to move there, overcome this inertia that holds my heart.
i'm sick of pursuing this tired avenue.
some say i should just stick to myself and try to stay mundane,
but i can't even stop the shakes i get when i sleep.
i can't stop the grotesque persistence of the sweeping second hand,
and it's still up to me to decide if that's a bad thing.
my life's in the background, burning.
i am nero.
who cares if it burns? the band will play on.
or, maybe just me.
but doesn't it sound so sweet?