Under A Dying Sun

The old plaster walls are like a second skin

That wraps right around you even when they're all closing in

A creature of comfort just coming to terms with a tight tourniquet

There was a time when there was no confining our protagonist

As the days drone on and the fire within

Is slowly replaced by your responsibility in

Making it up as you go along

None of us really know shit

Second opinions can still just be waters not worth wading in

It doesn't need to be some big secret

From under a dying sun

Caught in the middle of escaping escapism

It turns out admitting dеfeat takes too much enеrgy

Is the humming gone? Or can you still hear it too?

When the road has run out will you have somewhere you can run to?

Has the excitement all come and gone?

Is that moment worth holding through?

Can your pen still make light of all the paper you're holding onto?

From under a dying sun

Caught in the middle of escaping escapism

Once youthful and fully free

It turns out admitting defeat takes too much energy

Be the stone that just keeps grinding away

Once you're just dust in the ditch

Then your soul's finally saved