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It seems I've forgotten what's beyond these pictures, these windows, these things I've known for years. My question remains the same; "Why keep going?"
It's not the repetitive motion that kills me, but the schedule itself. Is it that I've spent all these years inside these same walls, that I yearn for an outside touch? Why must I throw it all away; I'm only human. Why must I spend these days questioning? There is no change. This is but rhythm, not an optimist's game.
It's not the repetitive motion that kills me, but the schedule itself. Is it that I've spent all these years inside these same walls, that I yearn for an outside touch? Why must I throw it all away; I'm only human. Why must I spend these days questioning? There is no change. This is but rhythm, not an optimist's game.
Lyrics submitted by huntercliftonmann
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