Funeral for Hope

Yeah. I think I'm done. I think I'm finally done.

Waking up feels like lifting a tombstone. Every single morning, resetting the bone.

Just to break it again by noon. They sell me potential.

They promise the moon. But I'm stuck in the crater, choking on dust.

My ambition is corroded, covered in rust. I try to be the hero.

I try to be strong. But how can I be right when the blueprint

is wrong? One step forward, collapse. Two steps back into the traps.

The cycle is spinning, the axle is bent. I've got nothing