Testo An Echo, A Strain

Left the party without saying goodbye. Couldn't keep it together. Drawn to the drinks and the dim lights, but I don't feel any better. There's more to life than a long road seen through a set of tinted windows. But lately that's where my mind goes when I feel like feeling hopeful. “Do you need some perspective or a sense of direction? How long can you live like this? Come on, just answer the question.” And if you measured our descent in meters per second, then I'm sure that my slow heart would outpace your quick wit. Does it ever get any easier? Or do we just trudge through our days ‘til the end, through the echo and strain of what we don't know and haven't accomplished? I guess you can't ever force it.