There is a temperate zone in the mind, between luxurious indolence and exacting work; and it is to this region, just between laziness and labor, that summer reading belongs.
Henry Ward Beecher
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Said
Emotionless I slip into the black
And there's no turning back now
Everyone around me's smoking crack
This tunnel is blinding
Hallucinating I'm debating life
But it's still moving forward
If I could just change the hands of time
I'd do it better
Just walk away
Just walk away
Fearless I have fell into a trap
And there's no way around it
Everyone is crying in the back
My kin they surround me
Hesitating there's no second chance
When you know you're a loser
Keep on trying keep an open mind
I'm caught in a circle
Just walk away
Just walk away
Just walk away
Just walk away
Emotionless I slip into the crack
Fearless I have fell into the trap
Hallucinating there's no turning back
Everyone around me's smoking crack
Just walk away
Just walk away
Just walk away
Just walk away
If you even heard a thing I said