There was a time when i thought the world was my imagination.
Passive, yet knowing all along that i was wrong
And that i'd end up buried in a memory.
But these times, they are changing, into what we don't know.
It's not about holding on. it's about letting go.
So then why am i not willing to give up?
I'm not willing to give up.
How innocent can i be when i'm deteriorating, descending, and pretending
To have everything even though our young souls are filled with fleeting feelings
That we can't control?