The cold shivered autumn
and her falling leaves...

I'm against the thousand doors to my heart,
and I'm not sure if they are meant to keep you in...

I stare out the hotel window
the cold wind against my face...

I'm not the same person,
since you left...

There are no kind words strong enough
to change the direction I've been going on...

And there she goes,
Her and the painted night horse...

You ever stop and realize you are
the ghost in your own story, standing...

You've gotten so good at destroying yourself.
You implode with the soft gospels of the past...

Her sorrowful moan,
I hear it between the dead...

Looking ahead
as the dark blue tides come crashing in...

As I no longer feel the
gravity underneath my feet...

Upon what memories of the past
that haunts you still...