| I know now more than ever
|
| that everything I’ve done was meant to be,
|
| it comes as warmth and painted silver,
|
| a toss to our simplicity
|
| Shatter the days of old
|
| and turn your journal’s pages slowly
|
| an era is come to an end,
|
| an evident to yours presence only
|
| An emotional gambit,
|
| a game to play and war to win,
|
| every battle won we still feel we lost it,
|
| our personal agendas glowing thin
|
| Through the walls of dejection
|
| I found myself a Breach
|
| Hell hath no fury as the wounded wolves,
|
| four hands grasp granting swifter slight of moves
|
| Where others seem blurry
|
| and they have no effect anymore
|
| you told me a change was coming
|
| and I embraced it without sores
|
| The colder my hands will grow
|
| the stronger my shoulder will be
|
| An emotional gambit,
|
| a game to play and war to win,
|
| every battle won we still feel we lost it,
|
| our personal agendas glowing thin
|
| Through the walls of dejection
|
| I found myself a Breach
|
| Hell hath no fury as the wounded wolves,
|
| four hands grasp granting swifter slight of moves |