I'm an old soul, making my way from the ending to the
beginning
Peeking over the shoulders of players to see whose hand is
winning
Let time mark time, let the living bury the living
Those who rode through the mirror, know the mirror's
deceiving

In this city, too close to breathe and too heavy for
lifting
The sorrow you escape is the sorrow you keep meeting
We are not our past; our past is in the making
Giving on the one hand what the other hand is taking