My shackles get weaker as the rooms empty
You are gone and the dust in your wake
Is the only means to see what path
I never want to take.
For rich or for poor
In sickness and health
I'm just amazed the bullet
Down the cold-steel bore
Only dry-fired.
Can I finally wash the taste of cobalt from my mouth?
The rooms are now empty
I'm through the door
Bracelets and chains, a broken circle
Shattered promises bound in metal stay on the floor
I step into the abyss
Smiling as I fall forward to the unknown
Not knowing or caring if something will catch me
I am free.
