I'm feeling weak in the knees, everyday of the week.
Hours bringing anchors, to my weary eyes.
It's breaking me, into this debt and sea.
My heart sweats, full of pride.
Days and days, they all collide.
Step after step, this concrete flight, it's taking me to my empty bedroom site.
Given regret and restraint I feel. I feel I wouldn't settle for anything less.
You get a job well done and your picture hung upon the wall. But at the end of this, it fucking won't mean shit at all.
The worst part of coming home is waking up just to know I'm alone.
The fucking 40 hour work week feeds this void of passion and lack of sleep.
The glaring sun as I step from the building has me questing what I am doing.
My life will never be mine and I will always walk the line.
I build myself up for this.
I break myself down for this.
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