At The End Of The Tunnel Is Where You Begin

Surrender, you're fighting a battle with fragile knees and an apathetic heart; subjected to falling up.
Abstain your tongue; words predicted by your rhythmic allure aren't noted.
Out of the clouds you shall rise and in the dew is where you shall lose balance.
Empathy hasn't quite knocked on the rotten door; nor has apathy answered it.
Running away on quick sand, and crawling through molasses; destiny has you in favor.
Leaning on water, it hasn't let you down yet; but then again, oxygen has.
A perfect repellent, confused senses only linger towards it as the naive walk away.
Your obsolete condition gives lying, a perfect ally to depend upon.
From the beginning now; I'm leaving you to fall on your feet before the air catches you.
Choking on your own hand, as you destroy yourself, another you is being reborn.
A perfect being raised from the ashes, perfectly capable of creating an honest lie.
You are cursed for your imagination, but recognized by everyone's blind eyes.
From the lines of logic, you don't make a very good point.
Creating a song but casting it out in a monotone piano, you very might well just be more equal than others.
Your life shall begin in your grave, then write us a picture what pushing up daisy's is really like.
Sewing petals back on to the flower only makes it half alive, and three quarters dead.
Have you found the solution yet? The one that will only dissolve into more cholesterol in your throat.
Pull your hair out and scream to the crowd how really sane you are.