PATRICK: When the dust finally clears, I wipe the sweat from my brow. A place unfamiliar, I climb above the flames and shout at the top of my lungs. What is this place? Beating, banging foreign drums. It pulses through my chest and pushes the air from my lungs

J&P: Tell me, do you remember? (I remember you so well.) Tell me, is it December? (This weather is giving me hell.)

JACOB: You're feeling sour, sour on my mind. You're giving me a bleeding heart-burn this feeling out like a tic

P: Will I one day (be free?) Am I forced to (suffer) through this day after day? There's a voice inside my head, says

J&P: Tell me, do you remember? (I remember you so well.) Tell me, is it December? (This weather is giving me hell.)

J: I recoil into myself. Shut inside till the next drought

P: Your sweetness covers the salt of my, words that I left behind. There's a place beyond the pines. Reminds me that you were mine