I didn't put the straw down so I could be same person but this person I've become is not half of what I'd hoped
And the dead feeling and coping come only second to the slopes with your cracked hands around my neck feels more like burning from a rope
Dark tinted glasses mask these lines that wrap around my eyes the burning skyline dusty air compares my home to this demise
I'm softly spoken but my depressed token has me wearing this disguise and with my wings clipped the seamstress is still re-teaching me to fly