What world will I create? What path can my footsteps entertain?
In the act of indecision, in the lack of a direction, my future stays unchanged
and my roads unchallenged. I fear that I haven't much to live for,
and haven't much time.
But how can I know unless I ever try?
We're forming a militia, rallying a warcry, "Idle to the bitter end"
In the face of apathy we found the answers to all the questions we never asked.
And in a way I'm ashamed, I always play it safe. Never taking chances and I never go astray,
always looking backwards at the moments I carelessly let slip past.
And every day is exactly the fucking same.
Is the world worth recreating? Does my passion have no bearing on the city I've come to love?
I can't make a statement with this voice I've grown to loathe.
And this familiar noise you're hearing is clearly the thumping sound of resolve,
and my heart beats much louder than my lungs ever let on.
Because it's the only thing that tells me I'm alive.
My family, my friends, God, please, show me a sign
that I am more than blood and breathing,
life means more than just completing,
more than death when we're done living.
Someone tell me I am real.
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