Curtain Call

Friend, it's time to give up the lies. It's written in the stars, and buried in your eyes: It's time to end our charades, To break out our umbrellas, and end our parade. It's time to stop picking the fights we won't win And face the facts and the music and admit and give in. The man calling us may not be the Grim Reaper, But I prefer to think of him as the Grim Reefer. We may have promised ourselves so much more, But it's pointless to worship what you don't adore. You can pack up your bags and go home, if you want: If the pain is too great, if it's dried up your font. There are many ways to die, many forms of death, And not all of them involve taking your last breath. We promised ourselves a fight to the end, But I can tell this fight wearies you, my friend. I choose to keep going, even though it hurts, And even though I don't know if this will even work. I miss the escapism, the fun, and the group, But my promise is a promise, and a sworn one to boot. I have to keep going, for better or for worse, Even though I'm hungry and tired, even though it hurts. At least say that I'll see you again, At least, please remember, you and I were once friends.

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