I pick up the pen, the piece of paper and repent
Lost souls, big goals and still I can't write out my sins
My sins, my sins I'll bury them and carry them, I'll carry them
I pick up the pen, the ink drys long before I carry out my sins
Death of the five legged horsemen, it's like the future depends on my pins
My pins of sorrow, let me slip and slide before the dirt dampens and muddy's the waters
I'm walking backwards not knowing where I was or where I came from, the path I came from seems so unclear
And yet, I was there not long ago but my mind, it cannot recollect and I collect my thoughts but my thoughts are unclear, my thoughts are unclear
I walk, I walk backwards with my hands in my pocket and with my shoes untethered
Will I fall or will I regress my steps to the beginning...