Standing on the mountain, looking towards the sea
Knowing they’ll both be here long after me
How long have I been here, how long will I stay
Is the time that’s left more than the time that’s passed away?

When I was young, I felt that I’d been here before
It all seems familiar, but I couldn’t say for sure
I don’t know if I’m lost, or I’m just getting one more glance
Or could it just be that God is giving me one more chance

Why we’re here is an idea that nobody is meant to know
The only fact we have is that one day we’ll have to go
Tomorrow is something that one day I won’t get to see
And my Yesterdays will be the only definition there is of me

I’m an old soul, but my body still feels young
My mind has heard the song, but the song I’ve never sung
Time knows all of the things that are still meant to be
Am sometimes I wonder, did Time forget about me?

Hell is here
        And here
        And everywhere you don't want it to be
You cut to the part of the play where we see Rome burning
        YOU: Sisyphus! Here is your rock!
        ME: Thanks, I thought I lost it!

I hit pause.
Up I go and down I come a
        Merry-go-round that throws up red water
        Free as a stallion
        Free as a show pony

                 Running running running—

You pull me back into the auditorium
        With a thought unheard in an unclean
        Chalice I can't help but drink from
Water from my head filling the crevices that are
Hidden deep
        Deeper
                Deepest and—
Cue the [crash]! and [burn]!
       (Ha! Get it! You’re burning in hell!)

That’s all this is, isn’t it?
       A carefully scripted (comedy) tragedy by a (God) Devil.
I read the script again.
You’re drowning in the fire of your sins
"Condemned by the Father you once loved
Like an unfulfilled prayer
Gathering dust in hell."
I throw it in the fire.

        Running running running.

i am but a mere stranger in this ghost town
sitting on my throne with a silly little crown
here's to their words that cut to the bone
and the psychedelic skies guiding me home

Ten, nine-eight, seven,
Six-five, four,
Three-two, one.
Hopscotch.
No one questioned.
No one laughed or pouted.
The rain washed away the colours,
And we started again tomorrow.

Seven thirty,
Seven thirty,
Seven thirty,
Seven thirty,
And so on.
We need answers.
We need reasons.
We are stuck in our tomorrows.
Our present fades out fast.

We are locked up in our timers;
Slaves to our master mints.
Our souls are dying,
With nowhere to hide
And no one to seek them.
Time does not stand still.

The chalk was our past time,
The clock is our taker,
And we play ourselves.