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letra de blood in the dirt and old sant antonino stories - deadpoets.

by now i would’ve thought we’d have found a better way to live. one where we understand how to love and forgive. where nothing lasts forever, we could make this last forever. and i’m not saying that we’ll find all of the answers, but at least we’re asking all of the questions. but even when you follow that yellow brick road, it’s so easy to lose your way if you refuse to be shown. are you searching for something, someone or yourself? well, well, i guess it must not come as a surprise that the world is freezing over, and i’m not talking about ice, it’s you and me and it’s each other. let that bleak, black hole in your chest encomp-ss everything you are and turn your back on all the rest. even a cold heart still beats, it still has to beat, but i can’t feel a pulse. the devil’s greatest trick was convincing me he did not exist, but now i see that the devil is inside of me. so if we consider every solitary moment combined (and) lay them end to end on the timeline of our lives, then there’s nothing that anyone has done to us, that we had never done to ourselves
i’ve been tracing the lines in the sand, back and forth, again and again through the distance. they’ve been written in the blood of my name and now i can see them clearly written in my veins and the page. who you are is as much about where you’re from as it is about where you’re going. if i ever hope to discover what it means to be me, i must first learn to be free; a product of individuality, not another shade of someone else’s scenery. i’m looking backwards to start looking forwards. discovering who i am, where i’m from and where my story was begun. i am whole

- deadpoets

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