At 6:15AM, I wake up from the same nightmare again. It's that one where I'm 100 years old and living alone without love. Everything I had was dressed and draped in velvet black, and words in the sky asked, "Where do we go after the sun goes down?" Staring at myself, I rub my hands against my face. As if the answer would come if I pushed hard enough. is it cliche to ask for a sign? Am I doing something right? Is this really the punch line? Can it be true that now, the joke is on us this time. A common mistake we often make is that we think there is a finish line. I really used to think that my story would go, "and then, and then, and then," I kept waiting for the beginning to end. I kept waiting for something to happen. I don't want to turn the page if I know how it ends. I already know the opponent wins, so what's the point? Our time has one foot in the grave, so bury me now and forever erase my name from each page. There's a checklist in my pocket with none of the boxes marked, and it's too late for me to start. Can it be truenow, the joke is on us this time. A common mistake we often make is that we think there is a finish line. What if this is as good as it gets? And in the end, we aren't left with answers. We're left with Choices

(Thanks to David for these lyrics)