And here in the night, as I feel the inferno, I stare in the dark, thinking what is eternal? The man or the moment, the act or the reason, these thoughts fill my head as I contemplate treason. Of dreams I have had, and dreams I have pondered, when late in the night, my mind it would wander to things I have done, and then quickly regret it, while denying vices my life had selected. And I think what I've done, or have yet to begin, and the man I've become, and the man that I've been, now caught in a waltz with the eternal dancer. I'm courted by death, but death isn't the answer, I say. All I was meant to be, could I suddenly just decide? Not a thought would survive. Could it be my life's worth ended there with my birth? If I could see someone who's been there before me, and traded his soul for a moment of glory, his penance or mercy, my spirit's debated, while judged on a scale that's been heavily weighted. And what have I done? Could there be such a sin? In this man I've become, in this man that I've been, now calling to God from the pen's very bottom, I pray he forgives every sin I've forgotten this day. This man I've become, in this man that I've been, now calling to God from the pen's very bottom, I pray he forgives every sin I've forgotten this day. And who would have thought that my fate it would conjure, this twist in the road on which I have wandered? Each vision and dream now completely dismembered, to give one's whole life and find nothing's remembered. And one lives a life that leaves nothing behind, not a thought or a dream that might echo in time. The years and the hours, the seconds and minutes, and everything that my life has placed in it, betrayed, betrayed, betrayed. The things I have done, the places I've been, the cost of my dreams, the weight of my sins, and everything that I've gathered in life, could it be lost? Could it be lost in this? Could it be lost in this? Could it be lost in this? In this?