The beginning of inevitability, the aftermath of art,
Safe behind the iron walls that tore our house apart,
An apathetic shaking of the hand that you were dealt,
As my memory reminds me of a voice that I once felt,
Sand runs from the hourglass, heading for the coasts,
For empty-bottle sunsets and the holiest of ghosts,
Perfecting imperfection, maybe I never got it right,
I want to make a difference, but I’ll settle for a fight,
Traveling down the rabbit hole, marching single-file,
We were lost more than found in the fever of denial,
Makeshift medication makes it hurt less as it ends,
But shatters the illusion when nobody else pretends,
As I sit where you stood and hold on to what you lost,
Everything we earned becomes the never-ending cost.