He's walking through the city unknown.
Sleeping in his home, all alone.
The room is quiet, but his head's blaring.
It seems to be raining outside. Raining angel tears.
Stuffing his head in his pillows, he goes to sleep.
He wakes up in the morning with nothing, but an unfinished dream.
With a half finished break fest, marching in protest.
Questioning humanity in the process.
Walking along side the sun, with his tie undone.
Getting ready to finish what he begun.
Fliers of dogmas flying by, as rows of crows sit and die.
Flashing his pass. Comfortable in his chair, half asleep.
'I’m a t the top of the top but still I climb.'
Suddenly he wakes up, because he's out of time.
Waiting in the rain, with nothing but a jacket of disdain.
As he arrives at the destination, with a grin of lost determination.
Looking at his feet, looking at his shoes.
'Did you hear?
Yeah, that's old news.'
