Lose Your Grip

The rope from which I'm hanging from, It is thinning, short and worn. I hope when I am reborn, There are knives where should be arms. I know, I know, I know, I wrote this, I will not be pushed around. And so, and so, and so, I hope this makes you feel less overwhelmed. Hand shakes in time, I'll take what's mine. Let me show you something my old friend, Our names are dragging in the dust. I know, I know, I know, I wrote this, I will not be pushed around. And so, and so, and so, I hope this makes you feel less overwhelmed. Hand shakes in time, I will take. Am I moving on or giving in? Can we end this conversation?