Routine has its tightest grip around my throat
Decaying as time's arrows travel on
Fives and zeros, number games
Retrace, regret, runaway
Ritual suicide just to be nickel and dimed
Fives and zeros number games
Retrace, regret, runaway
Sinking headlights and hospital beds
Breeding ground, feeding time for sunken eyes
All is shrouded, but there is a voice still howling
Old, cold, and tired just won't cut it anymore
To rebuild is too accept destruction
But not to forfeit, nothing is forgotten
If all else fails, "take me to the river, drop me in the water"
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