Texty: Carpathian. Isolation. Permanent.

Two ways to choose,
On a razor's edge,
Remain behind,
Go straight ahead.
Room full of people, room for just one,
If I can't break out now, the time just won't come.

Watch me unwind.
Rejected and depressed.
Everything I am I hate.
Confused, directionless.
Knowing this is all we had.
Existing on best terms we can until
Death takes us from our own fucking hands.

But nothing can touch us now.

I tell myself that I know I don't want to be the man who tells stories
Of the all things that were ripped from my hands before I truly grasped them and I know if we shutdown in stages then let this be the last time
That I ever fucking gave a shit, with my head in my hands, I never meant anything more than this,
This is the story of permanence.
This is the story of unchained momentum
This is the story of everything, we ever wanted