I'm compelled to pace like it'll lead me home
They've always said that all roads lead to Rome
From what I can tell it must have gone up in smoke, to cloud my already unsteady vision and choke these lungs.
They way it happens when a father is seen playing catch with his son.
But that's a position that can't be won.
So I'll drift to the horizon like the winter sun.
But with twice the silence and half the composure.
So I'll impolde like a super nova
But with twice the passion and half of the exposure.
The end result of looking through open doors for closure