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Left Behind
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Out of Line
1, 2, 3
Countless times
I've been told to step in line,
But on we march
To the off beat of someone else's heart.
Then as my blood started running cold,
The colors faded and my feet started skipping notes.
It's hard to dream when you can't even breathe.
Another number just waiting to lead.
It's hard to dream when you can't even breathe.
Another number just waiting to lead.
But I will not fall
I'll die, when I'm ready to die.
With my heart on my sleeve embroidered with pride, and I'll greet death at the front of the line, as a face with a name and a life that was mine.
March out of time.
Draw your own lines.
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Maybe when I'm gone,
My voice will carry on
To help at least one walk in his own sun
And never let a shadow cast upon their fucking path.
Maybe when I'm gone,
My voice will carry on.
You're at the end of the line,
So take a number, wait for your time
Fuck!
You're at the end of the line,
So wait for your time
You're at the end of a rope,
You got seconds to live,
And you're losing hope.
Cut the fucking rope.
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