This house has been steeping for three long and painful years;
The brew’s as bitter as the halt of a career.
Pour out the pot;
take that last shot,
I know it won’t save us,
but I might just save myself.
I’m going east,
You’re going to hell,
and I just can’t care, can’t care,
not in the least,
Can’t care where your dreams dwell.
You always taught me that a stitched wound doesn’t scar.
my face is spotless, but the wounding went too far.
I’m done wishing and I’m done bleeding,
I’m moving east,
wherever the night may lead me.