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?