The old plaster walls are like a second skin
That wraps right around you even when they're all closing in
A creature of comfort just coming to terms with a tight tourniquet
There was a time when there was no confining our protagonist

As the days drone on and the fire within
Is slowly replaced by your responsibility in
Making it up as you go along
None of us really know shit
Second opinions can still just be waters not worth wading in
It doesn't need to be some big secret

From under a dying sun
Caught in the middle of escaping escapism
It turns out admitting dеfeat takes too much enеrgy

Is the humming gone? Or can you still hear it too?
When the road has run out will you have somewhere you can run to?
Has the excitement all come and gone?
Is that moment worth holding through?
Can your pen still make light of all the paper you're holding onto?

From under a dying sun
Caught in the middle of escaping escapism
Once youthful and fully free
It turns out admitting defeat takes too much energy
Be the stone that just keeps grinding away
Once you're just dust in the ditch
Then your soul's finally saved