The only ties that I feel the need to stick around for are ones with high arcs of stories.
Wondering where I fit in among the crowd, and if my face is counted among the living
I am one of the famous living dead, a spectre with a heart that beats in question
Wishing that I had the strength to bring the words to life in a night before day breaks
Before I swallow my pride tomorrow, I hate to leave a story untold. 
8000 milligrams of pride, slides down my spine, a lethal dose of kind.
Tired of the ties that keep me from being too kind, and too tired to play out the love story
I'd do it in a public place, because I'd die with such haste, they'd watch me fade away. 
In fact I'm slightly enraged that this'd take a few days, I've got little time, and little on my mind.
I just want to burn before the candles of my eighteenth birthday.