The record spins as empty words will resonate the city stroke of a lifeless pen, where truth is concealed in archaic prose, as these feelings are growing cold, time and time again in endless narrative. Until I rip out the page, and damn the ink that says, I will drown in all of them again. I found warmth under the last light of this town, yet the dissonance creates a distance from finding my way out. As I lie awake I see my hands begin to shake to hold the hope that I can make it one more night and not fall victim to the rhythms of this hell. So all I'll ask of you is you never, never turn off the light, but if all else fails I'll bury my soul in 3/4ths time. So all I'll ask of you is that you never, never turn off the light since I feel there is still something, something left inside of me. NO HOPE. NO HOPE. LIGHTS OUT.