Sick of circling the same road.
Sick of bearing the guilt.
I’m so sick, infected with
A dream that we were dead
But we took everything life could give;
Almost thought we made it home.

I don’t know who I am anymore
And how can you look at me
When I can’t stand myself?
My scars are yours today
This story ends so good.

Tell me you hear my cry,
I hear haunted melodies calling me.
Lying when I say I’m free of pain;
I’m just paranoid of getting lost
Or that I might lose.
I’m pouring out passion.
I’m hanging by a thread.
Still I like to think you said
“This is not where the story ends.”

The sun will set on this, my dear.
We’ll cry tonight, and in the morning we are new.
I want to find the book and read it again
And savor in this heart that’s healing.
The dawn is breaking; we can see the fire glow.
Take my hand we’re almost home.