Waking up slow to the lightnand ice on the window,nbreathing in hollownspaces of time.nAll of them beggars themselves,nlike theives on the mountain,ndraining our fountains,nand breathing new life.nnCuz' all of them know the truth,nabout growing up.nWhat is life, without that bitter cup?nDrink it up,nbefore it comes to flow again.nnAll of them talk in their sleep,nlike boys in the movies,nwriting their stories,nand selling their lives.nRiding on hard till' the day,nwhen everything crashes -nwe're lit up like matches,nand smothered in flame.nnCuz' everything's changed, the truthnhas up and left.nThose stubborn rats,nsink back in their nests,ntheir hopes cast like nets,nand they'll always break their backs,non the hope that all this strife,nwill come around again.nnWaking up cold in the light,nthat streams from your doorway -nthinking my own way -ntelling new tales.