Some kind of friction has scarred me, but created your new style.
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My reasons to endure used to be based around who you were,
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and your brilliant passion that could blaze right in front of a perfect stranger.
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This is my downfall - my blemish, I've been told before.
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Quit holding on to what she was.
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She doesn't recognize you or herself anymore.
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She's stuck in the process of embracing what crumbles,
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and when it happens there will be no apologies.
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She chose to collapse what held her,
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and if not cautious there may never be a cradle to soften her descent, like clouds.
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New shapes are taken, but they're not always actual, they're never tangible.
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It's so brutal to see someone give it all up for nothing,
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and having no power to stop them.
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-----------------
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Too Late For Roses
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| August Burns Red |
