If I give myself too many times around,

what's going to be left of me when it needs to count?

When all the shouting ends and the dust rains....

a path cleared to the damage done,

won't be you or me that leaves with no stains,

this time may be the last a battle is sung;

It wasn't me who put this tension between us –

your lack of honesty is what made me give up,

this ride's been nothing but unpleasant,

though – your touch was intoxicating: I think I shall get off at the next exit;

Forgiveness just holds no home with me,

you should be running while you are able to be breathing,

there will be nothing left of you worth knowing,

when the demon inside comes singing.