I’m sorry for wearing your
shoulders down,
for wearing a rusted crown this entire time,
for disguising this threadbare throne,
I promise I’ll make every
burden of yours my own,
I’ve said you’ve ran from me
and I’ve held it against you,
there's no haste,
I understand
I've seen it second to you
and thirdhand,
and instead of servitude
I see aptitude,
you will escape,
sometime's instead of
pulling through the vice grips
you have to spin the other way,
I understand

theres nothing vein
in putting your pain before,
you’ve stopped running
yet when trouble tramples
as hard as it has,
the footprints are in cement,

it's easy turning a blind eye
to a mirror when the reflection
is a projection seen before,
I'll stay tight in vice
and keep my laces loose.