I think I’m starting to figure it out
Like my thoughts about the future
Starting to melt
Like asphalt snow on roadsides are starting to melt
I am finally getting better
I found my way out

For four years I wallowed in your
Bereavement like this was something
That could make me better
But it’s losing meaning now
I think I’m getting better
I think I found my way out

The way my grandfather
Got that place in the forest
And how I can still see him there,
Every time I come around
Tricking the gods
And their pact of suffering
In which you hoped to evade
Thinking to himself of how he
Lived through life alone, and
He can leave it on his own terms
And when I have to leave
I will decide
The gun on the table
Near the alarm clock

One night after drinking he stumbled back home
Thinking of God, and how he could make such a world
Like ants in the glass where he laughs and he laughs
At his lost wife and his family and the things that he lacks
And the version gets blurry as he walks up the steps
And he bursts in the room panting last breaths
He holds the gun firmly and feeling its weight
Puts it up to his head and finally he isn’t afraid
He feels so clever in his way of escape
The trap of the creator in which he evade
And closed his eyes and then..
Left

His blood is still running in me.
I think I’m getting better.
I think I found my way out.
I think I’m getting better.
I think I found my way out.