I kept my eyes upon the road ahead
I fled the city full of plague and death
My shoulder itched, I gripped the wheel instead
I drove past trees that cleared my every breath
The itch means nothing.
The itch could be anything.
I felt a creeping soreness in my chest
I watched my petrol slowly running low
My breathing harsh, I pulled aside to rest
I felt my rib cage strain with every blow
This pain means nothing.
This pain could be anything.
I heard the voices calling in my head
I tried to push them back, to let them go
My eyes remained trained on the road ahead
I strained, but they would never let me go
These voices mean nothing.
These voices could be anything.
I felt my rib cage slowly crack, expand
I heard my breath grow ragged, ever slow
My life was pain, my hands began to shake
I could not think, the voices whispered low
I’m turning into nothing.
I’m turning into anything.
I call you, save me, take the pain away
I beg you, share it, feel my pain as well
My eyes are dark, I hide from light of day
I only feel my pain, it grows and swells
I’m waiting here for nothing.
I’m waiting here for anything.