i stay at pitstops and detours like they're home

when i should pick up these weary feet and go

my eyes are sore from this mile a minute sprint

my heart it wonders if this race is really worth the win



and it's time to run

but i'm still dragging on this past that weighs a ton

now i'm begging for a parallel of wills

for the scenery and faces to stay still



i love permanance like the friend i never had

and i want innocence to linger longer than your average fad

and i'm not out to live a life of mere content

but it's more that i am dealing with the fact that i am bent

out of shape and tarnished like the unfinished gold

who wonders if he'll ever take some useful shape to hold