Still counting our days before hand, I’ll find your secrets before buried.
Thank you for the belief of me, a single man in your mind.
I’m talking to your memory, though I cannot understand you.
I know you’re made of words, making me your idea within.
You can’t run from me anymore, You’re somewhere nearing the end.
If ever there was a time to think, think awhile.
Of all men, you’re tormented, so I must be your tormentor.