it was not what was said,
or the kick in the groin that followed,
or the bottle that hit my head,
that made me feel i'd lost control.
it was how you were staring at,
this empty space that i occupy,
with a face that could testify,
i'd grown into someone you no longer knew.

and when it hits you, it hits you hard,
the feeling that that nothing is going to last.
manipulated and distorted,
watching the world go by too fast.

come as you are,
and then leave as you have been.
don't lose your head while wondering,
if it's better to burn out or fade away.
and if "life is what happens while we're busy making other plans",
how come that sounds like breaths of alcohol,
said by a man who'd lost control?

and when it hits you, it hits you hard,
the feeling that that nothing is going to last.
manipulated and distorted,
watching the world go by too fast.

it's not what you're able to do that really matters,
the things that we leave behind are what we are made of.
it's born as a small spark in the back of your head,
lives on as a fire, and it's still burning.