Tangent

At the end of time, the end of my life
Beginnings suffer to be anew, I was always right
The senses foreboding, eminence of strife
To know of knowing, before my eyes close on foresight
The mirages of comfort, falseness of security
As long as we're pretending, purging my impurity
But amidst the drawings in the sand
The lines that we dare not cross
Over the shapes of my failures at hand
I must've found that which wasn't lost
What the bloodiest of fucks?
It would figure if I believed in luck
Fortune favors the brave
Fortunate missing, one foot in the grave
The other side that never fit
Not to give up, but I fucking quit!
Aiming for the temple to hit the frontal lobe
Novice marksman mans the mark, a probe
I actually probably hate every bit of all of it
And I surely hate the parts that are the opposite 
Exhaustion, bereavement
Heavy eyed, extremist
Off to the gallows with me then
To give up my ghost, a life of pretend
Like a gift for a friend...

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