It's never been so crystal clear that I've been dying six months a year. And arguing with strangers about why I'm still here, woah oh. And no one let's me forget questions about my relevance.
So you say, all your white flags are up and that you've had enough and that you were tired of collecting dust, you say everything always looks the same and you made your brand new face to match your brand new place, you say all your distress calls have gone out and your ship is going down.
I can't seem to recognize. Either side of this modern version or fading person I was. I tried to memorize dates and times of. Old accidents and the failed attempts.