Saint Elsewhere

It's time to reach the edge

the cutting room floor

the beginning of the end

it's time to make the shit

hit the fan of my heart

and bolt throw me into 

saint elsewhere.

I'm tired of the pain
I feel when I think back
or when I go forward
to a place I've been before
or the attempt at opening a new door
trying to redefine the memory
for myself but it's all still there
the things I said
the things I did
the reasons for guilt
the reasons for pain
that won't go away
Can I ever get off this train?

Can I ever get the vision back
that sets me apart from the game
that made me who I was
that soul that got lost in the rain
before the flood, before the drain
Is it even possible to find
a piece of yourself you didn't mean
to set aside
Is it even possible to recreate the time
Or have I already been recreated blind.