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I think Iâm seeing things in my coffee cup,
and I donât know if all these dreams will ever be enough
to keep me truckinâ along this dusty, potholed road.
I suppose I should be going now, my coffeeâs getting cold.
Just like my soul.
Sunrise, sunset, doesnât matter, itâs always the same.
The sun is moving all the time, but weâre the ones changing.
Ranges of emotion cluttering my mind,
bouncing through my body, destroying my insides.
But please donât take my soul;
itâs the thing I need most.
Timesâs a-wasting, my breathâs becoming short.
Waiting for an answer, but itâs time I canât afford.
Begging and bartering has become my last resort.
Itâs up to me to acknowledge or to ignore:
Whatâs the point of wondering when nothingâs getting done?
And whatâs the use of marching to the beat of your own drum
when youâre out of tune and have no rhythm and youâre all torn up?
Well, Father, if it is your will then please just take this cup.
Take this cup.
So I put on my helmet and I strap on my boots.
The rest of it is uphill and I know that I may lose.
But thereâs no chance of gaining if I never even try.
And I would like to know myself before I have to die.
As I sigh my last sigh.
Timesâs a-wasting, my breathâs becoming short.
Waiting for an answer, but itâs time I canât afford.
Begging and bartering has become my last resort.
Itâs up to me to acknowledge or to ignore:
Time to listen, time to learn.
Time to rise up from these ashes of my burned
and broken life that I led
to save my soul no longer dead.
My soul no longer dead.