I'm afraid I'm losing hold

This precipice I've been holding on to
Is getting slippery with all the lies I've told

I feel so cold
And I've been getting less bold
I'm sorry I can't fit your mold
I'm sorry I can't do what I'm told

Most of all
I'm sorry I can't be the one you get to hold

It’s a runaway train heading towards a crowd.
You’re all dead now.
You’re all dead now.
Keep treading in your wading pools
too scared to face the sea
you’ll be dragged under
and then you’ll think of me.
I’m the conductor of this train
and you’re stuck out on the tracks
red along the iron-ways
but I bet I make it back

We'll all be dead in a million years,
Perhaps much sooner than that.
The way we go about our lives
Is conducive to that track.
If we don't end all existence in
A blazing nuclear war,
We'll poison this sphere (that much is clear)
With smoke and sludge and tar.
But here in my tree,
Surrounded by leaves
And the golden, sparkling light,
The bombs and the haze
Seem so far away.
Perhaps we'll be all right.