Oh, what an ironic crossroad.
Depending on what I learn, or who I've known.
This static plagues my head until it fades out into the grey.
The page is ripped out it's  missing as they say.
Tell me what I need to know.
Describe what makes me whole.
How can I repent after all of the damage I have done?
I've lied and I've stolen.
I've tried to stay golden.
The paint chips off and the copper stays showing.
I never stood a chance and I'm feeling content.
The words said are clear because they're black and sit bolded.