Like the unfurling buds of a hungry flower,
we all have our moments of glory
however brief; the bitter, the sweet, the sour.
We're all threatened by our mortality
the silent clock ticking in you
It whispers during the stale of the night
Why you, you'll never win this fight.
We pull the blinds back over our eyes,
and think sweet nothings, sweet lies.
Oh how we waste our life with empty dreams
never truly taking into account what we've seen.