Unforeseen Like A Dream That Turns To A Scream

Weekly story post! This one is Sci-Fi (about 13,900 words). Probably also has the longest title of any story I’ve posted thus far. There is an explanation for the title, but you’ll have to read the story to find it out. It’s not a vital story component, but it does help to give some background. Anyway, that’s enough from me, enjoy the story!

Pedro Guerra appears in the doorway. It would be more accurate to call that doorway a hatchway, and he all but fills it as he stands there resting his left arm on the upper section of the oval shaped opening. He raises his right arm subconsciously and runs his open fingers through his lengthening brown fringe to stop it from flopping into his green eyes.

Pedro is an engineer and as such is dressed in the familiar grey jumpsuit that everyone on this space station is clad in. The only difference is that the sections of cloth covering his shoulders are coloured a dark green. It signifies that he’s an engineer to anyone that so much as glances at him. Whether it’s necessary or not, the Spanish born astronaut who is thirty seven years old, cannot say. It’s true that there are more than two hundred people on this station, named Prometheus. Yet, it strikes him that everywhere he goes people know his name. After eleven months in space that isn’t surprising. Especially when there are only a limited number of people you can see and you see them day after day.

In that way Prometheus is unlike any place Pedro has ever been before. Even the training camps back on Earth that he was stationed on, where he learned the necessary skills for these space missions, do not compare. After all, there is a big wide world of more than nine billion people beyond the boundaries of the training grounds. Plus, on top of those being trained for their future missions are the ancillary staff and instructors that help men and women like Pedro to achieve their goals and depart this planet for Prometheus.

The space station spans some fourteen hundred metres across both its x and y axis creating a plus shape that looms like a second moon. The station rests on the opposite side of the third rock from the sun to the planets sole natural satellite. The views are exquisite. At least from the Earth facing side of the station that is. Pedro cannot say the same for the side that faces the black white speckled canvas of the depths of space. And in truth he isn’t comfortable with the thought of delving deeper into the void. But he doesn’t have to worry about such things, at least not for the time being. When that day comes he is rotating out and going back to having his feet on solid, firm ground. Near-Earth orbit is enough of the vacuum for him. He is only up here anyway to help facilitate the scientists and daredevils who are helping to further the science of mankind. One such daredevil, a name Pedro gives them which is not an official title in any way, is Ben Wu. Ben is the thirty two year old Asian-Canadian astronaut who is the sole occupant of the room that Pedro is looming in the hatchway of. Ben is completely oblivious to Pedro’s presence which has in turn left Pedro chuckling to himself with a wide smile carved across his tanned slender features.

Ben Wu has his jumpsuit stripped to his waist and the arms of the clothing tied in place. It’s uncomfortable because it increases the feeling of heat in that area by several times, but it’s necessary to stop the arms getting under his feet. Even if right now Ben is laid out on his back lifting the artificial weights which are mimicking the gravity and resistance he would feel if he were still on Earth. He isn’t and while there is a recreation of gravity on Prometheus, it is significantly lower than he is used to back on the planet of his birth. That’s why sweat is beading down his face. He can feel the sticky feeling of his vest clinging to his skin while the exposed skin of his arms, neck and face are slick with moisture. This is a daily routine for Ben. Not part of his scheduled routine, but something he has instead built in so that the transition back to Earth when this mission is over will be easier. At least, that is what he hopes. He has no way of knowing for sure. Every time he thinks his transition will be a little easier, but it never works out that way. Previously he could have put it down to him not having been prepared enough for the return to natural gravity and air. That won’t be the case this time. This time he’ll be ready. He is sure of it. Yet, this mission is very different from any he’s been on before. This will be the first space walk anyone has done in the new state-of-the-art membrane suits.

Sure Ben’s been part of the trial runs both on Earth and within the confines of Prometheus. But nothing can compare to the realities of taking your first step out into a vacuum without any oxygen tank strapped to your back. He’d be lying if he didn’t say, even if it is to himself, that he’s anxious about it. He’d be a fool not to be. Though, he has every confidence in the suit. It hasn’t failed a single test run up to now. At least, not since he joined the program nearly two years ago. He can’t say if it suffered any failures before that. It’s likely as back then the suit had been a concept and barely working prototype cobbled together in an attempt to secure funding by showing its potential promise. And it had clearly worked otherwise he wouldn’t be here, on Prometheus.

“Somebody looks busy.” Pedro says still smiling.

The Spanish astronaut sees no reason to continue his silent observation.

Ben recognising the voice immediately bursts into a light chuckle before querying, “Have you been spying on me long?”

The Canadian born Asian with thick short black hair and light brown eyes finishes his rep and then with his thumbs deactivates the recreated gravity and resistance made to simulate lifting weight on Earth and then sits up on the bench beneath him.

He soon turns his attention to Pedro who is still in the open hatchway smiling and waits for a response.

“I’m just dropping by to see if you’re ready for your big day. It’s today isn’t it?” Pedro returns with only the occasional hint of a Spanish accent creeping through every so often. It’s barely noticeable and Ben isn’t sure if he’d pick up on it if he didn’t know Pedro had been born in Spain.

“Sure is.” Ben confirms as he puts down the twin metal spindles with magnets and a whole host of electronic tech he doesn’t understand built into them. That isn’t to say that Ben Wu isn’t a smart man. He is. That’s why he’s on this program. But he’s smart in a moment to moment way. Willing to take risks scientists just aren’t. Some might think it cowardly for scientists not to try their own inventions but if they did there’s a good chance they wouldn’t have gotten very far before serious injury or death ruined any chance at serious progress. That was what stunted the space age in the very latter part of the twentieth century and into the early part of the twenty first, in Ben’s eyes. That’s why he’s relieved he had not been alive at that time. He’d have found the over cautious, can’t do anything attitude suffocating. Then again, he’d probably have just done it and hoped for the best.

Thankfully, humanity takes a more even and measured approach these days. A lot of science mixed with a healthy dose of risk. Not recklessness. That’s as pointless as being overcautious, even to a man like Ben who Pedro refers to as a daredevil. Ben doubts Pedro is well versed on some of the, by-comparison, truly insane things that were pulled in the early days of space exploration. Yet, all those men, and the few women that were allowed to take part, are Ben’s heroes. They are the reason he does this. He doesn’t want to be famous, much like they didn’t. No, Ben wants to help further humanity and he has enough of a working knowledge of science and technology in addition to his daring streak to be of actual use.

“How you feeling?” Pedro asks as his face suddenly turns serious with the smile now completely erased.

“Dehydrated.” Ben jokes as he slowly rises to his feet. If he were on Earth he could have leapt to his feet but on Prometheus doing so will result in his head slamming into a bulkhead somewhere or other.

He’d learned that first hand during his maiden mission on Prometheus. It had only been a weeklong stay, much shorter than his current stint. Not that he minds. In many ways Ben prefers being up here on Prometheus. Earth is overcrowded, noisy, polluted and, well he has to admit it, dying. At least, it is from the perspective of humanity anyway. Everyone knows the planet itself will live on long after the human race is gone. It is just the planets current incarnation is coming to an end, that much is clear, and with it all those that call it home. Its part of the reason the membrane suit he’ll be testing in a little while is so important. Humanity can’t cart billions upon billions of litres of oxygen across the solar system or into the depths of space. It just isn’t feasible and even if it somehow was possible there is no way of knowing if it would be enough, or how long it would last. Sure, technology means the air could be endlessly recycled and re-oxygenated, at least in theory, but there will never be enough time to test it and make certain of that on such a grand scale as the starships that will be needed to ferry every man, woman and child away from the only world they’ve ever known. That’s why membrane suits bring so much hope. They have been tested for tens of thousands of hours and they too are capable of re-oxygenating air, and suffer almost no diminishing returns, without a single point of failure. Other than a need to exchange a tiny filter the equivalent of every fifteen years, and filters are much easier to produce and transport in enormous quantities compared to huge containers of gases.

“Can’t you take anything seriously, daredevil?” Pedro asks while letting out a sigh of concern for the Asian-Canadian’s lack of visible anxiety.

If Pedro were in his place he’d be having kittens and trying to claw his way out of Prometheus. Not literally, but figuratively. Then again, he’d never have signed on for such a mission role in the first place. He and Ben are very different, but it works and they’ve got to know each other well over the last eleven months. No surprise when you’re pool of potential friends and associates is limited to just a couple hundred. Especially, when nearly half of those are scientists and many of those scientists care only about whatever project their working on and as such keep to their own little cliques for interaction.

It isn’t a rule, at least not a written one, but it might as well be. Pedro can understand why. It’s easier to chat when you know you have something in common. Thankfully not all the scientists are like that. Some are happy for more victims to indoctrinate to their way of thinking. Again, that is not literally, but just how one scientist explained why he and a decent number of his ilk are more than willing to chat about what they’ve been doing and go into the most intricate of details to explain it. They even make sure that intricate detail is in terminology that someone without two of more doctorates will understand.

“Not if I can help it.” Ben beams back a smile moments before he uses the towel he’s just picked up to wipe his sweat drenched face and then proceed to doing the same across his exposed neck and arms.

“Mind if I walk you down there?” Pedro asks. He’s worried about the test. He has every faith in the team behind it, the genius scientist that came up with the idea, who is still back on Earth, and Ben who has been testing it. Yet, Pedro can’t shake the feeling about the possibility that it could still fail and if it does that could in turn spell the end for Ben Wu. That doesn’t sit right with the station engineer, but he knows better than to try and talk Ben out of it. This is why the slightly younger man is here and by the look on his face there is no way Pedro would be successful even if he did attempt such a feat.

“Sure. Let me just finish trying to dry off.” Ben answers matter-of-factly as he continues to dry off his torso. He’s finished with his exposed flesh and is now dabbing at the sweat stained vest covering his torso, the straps of which run over his broad shoulders yet somehow seem to be bone dry.

“Not stopping by your bunk to change?” Pedro offers in surprise as he blinks rapidly.

“No time. And anyway it’ll help me slip right into the thing.” Ben replies with a chuckle before he finishes dabbing at the material of his vest. He’s convinced that he’s got off about as much of the excess moisture as he’s going to. So quickly unties the arms of his jumpsuit from around his waist and then slips back into the upper section of the one piece outfit and then slides the zip two thirds of the way up. The zip ends at about where the opening would be if he were wearing a collared shirt with the top button unfastened.

“There’s something wrong with you.” Pedro says as he pushes off from the oval hatchway, shaking his head as Ben approaches quickly.

“What was your first clue?” Ben says with a laugh as he steps out through the open oval hatchway into the two metre wide corridor, past Pedro, and begins to stride toward his mission.

“The fact you’re a daredevil.” Pedro replies with a smile as he falls into step beside Ben.

Again Pedro has to sweep his hair back and to the side to keep his fringe from falling into his eyes. Ben catches it and bursts into laughter with a shake of his head leaving Pedro to ask, “What? Am I wrong?”

Rail Against

Rebel against the, confines that are formed
You do not, have to be some pawn
This life is yours, so choose the path you walk
If you don’t you’ll end up down a dead end fork

Break the mold, is all we have to say
If you don’t, you’ll end up the same way
What a way, to spend the time you have upon the Earth
Its like they want to wade in misery right from birth

Shout your wishes, and show no remorse
You will succeed, if you stay the course
Never let the words, of strangers sway you from the road
They are simply jealous of your life and only want to goad

Fight against the, conformity of bonds
These people are, far beyond wrong
Judge a book, by its cover without an ounce of thought
Its why they’ll wind up devoid of original thought

Night Terror

Waking slick with sweat
Another night terror event
Shivering for a bit
No reprieve from it
As the world burns
And people take turns
Society is unravelling
Victims of extremism
While the ghosts roam
Voices continue to drone
Dreams have been lost for good
As has the innocent blood
Trapped within a glass cage
There is no fresh page
Locked deep within the pit
Not even a chance to change it
But still we risk sleep
Even though it makes us weep
Slipping further from the path
Righteousness is in the past
While we toss and turn to win
One day we will fall to sin
As the nightmares rage on
We’re losing all that we should’ve become
Then one day we will not wake
Another victim of the terrors that wait

God Of The Sun

Ra, God of the Sun
Dawning of a new day come
Banishing the shadows of night
Illuminating all with light
As the sands shift below
The pyramids do grow
Tombs of the dead pharaoh
Connecting up to you
King of the Gods
Deity of the Earth
We pray to your existence
For your everlasting persistence
Oh creator of our realm
Most powerful of the pantheon
Our worship will never be done
We erect temples to your dominion
Even Orisis could not contain
You were simply reborn again
Free from the underworld
Divinity unbridled

Food For Thought

I took a train down to the bay
Can’t say why I went that way
Just felt like something just for me
Cause I needed a change to my scenery
And somehow the weather did hold
I never would have dreamed so bold
That seems strange when I say it aloud
Truth is I’m not that proud
Just a guy living a life
Want no part of pointless strife
Cause days are short and mean too much
Squander them and it is tough
But I digress this is not the point
I went wandering through this joint
A place where I had no worry
Not ever going to say I’m sorry
For I’ve done no wrong by any
And I’m not interested in the many
Just took a stroll along a path
Gave my head a break from the math
After that I felt a new fire inside
Such energy will help me on my ride
The next chapter in my days ahead
Times that keep me mentally fed

In The Hole

Oh look a Sci-Fi story. Haven’t seen one of those in a while. Also this is on the longer side (about 15300) compared to others I’ve posted recently. Can’t really say much else about the story as it’ll give too much away. Have fun reading, In The Hole.

A red haired man hair wakes with a start. His heavy eyelids resist at first, but after a few moments they manage to recede to reveal his light blue coloured eyes.

The man doesn’t know where he is and remembers nothing of the last time he was awake. He feels that such a gap in his memory should worry him, but for some reason it doesn’t give him the level of anxiety that, had he been asked about such a thing happening, he would have believed he would feel.

Suddenly, he attempts to move in the murky low lit space around him only to find that his joints and muscles are stiff and resistant to his urges, which soon become orders. That is why instead, the red haired man waits.

A haze of confusion is clouding his mind and it feels to him as though there is a dense fog sitting in his head. It isn’t shifting or thinning and that concerns him as he finally attempts to cast his aching eyes around him to view his surroundings.

His surroundings are not what he would have expected to be upon waking, as it seems that he is in a dark space illuminated only by a single small yellow light that sits high above his head and slightly behind him. He knows he should crane his neck to take a look, but that too resists his demands, leaving him only able to gaze upon the limited view he has before him. It’s a view that gives him little information in regards to his whereabouts. This is why he again attempts to move his joints after a short pause.

With this attempt they partially comply with his demands, though as he moves his joints he feels them move in a jagged and lethargic manner. The man doesn’t understand why but pushes the myriad of fears and concerns that have suddenly welled to the surface aside allowing him to focus solely on the here and now. And to the man what matters most right now is achieving movement, proper continuous movement. Not the jagged stop start kind that his body is only just about providing him right now.

It takes him a decent time before his stiff pivots and turns become fluid, but once they do it allows the man to see the state of the place which he has awoken in, and he has to admit that it is disgusting. Though, that is of slightly less concern to the red haired man compared to the state he finds himself in, because he is caked in filth.

With his aching joints now functioning enough, the man attempts to brush some of the dirt away in the hopes of making himself something close to presentable. But as he brushes at the dirt he finds that all he really succeeds in achieving is spreading the grime further across the tatty boiler suit that covers his wiry framed body. Not that the man pays notice to the form or shape of his body as he continues to focus on brushing at the almost black muck that has formed almost a second layer over larger sections of his clothing.

Before long the man spots the rounded edges of an oval that is woven into an area over his left breast. He’s thankful to find that this section of his overalls are far less smeared with dirt, which is why he quickly goes to work at holding the section of his overalls with one hand while brushing at the area with his other. To his relief the man finds that the dirt here offers less resistance to his attempts at cleaning it off and so before long he finds that within the oval are letters. At first the red haired man struggles to read the letters due to them being upside-down and in a flowing font. But after a bit of perseverance he concludes that the letters spell out Ace.

The fog in his head is still dense, but has lifted just enough for him to assume that Ace must be his name. It doesn’t ring a bell, but nor does he have such a reaction to it that he can say that it cannot be his name either. He takes that as a win; though for what reason he cannot quite say. However, he isn’t willing to argue with himself and so settles that his name must be Ace. It seems as good of a name as any. Not that Ace can think of any other name right now, even though he knows that are a great many thousands that exist.

So with his name revealed to him, at least in his mind, and his joints functioning, if not rudimentary, Ace concludes that he needs to leave this dead-end square prism of a space filled with shadows and piles of dirt, dust, muck, filth, detritus and corruption. Feeling compelled to act, and not continue to stay sat on his backside, Ace attempts to stand.

His first attempt fails as soon as it begins, because Ace doesn’t even manage to rise from off his backside and onto his feet. Instead, as soon as he’d tried to put weight on his feet, as well as his arms to help him manoeuvre, they had given out. As a result Ace had come crashing back down, painfully to the solid dirt stained concrete floor of the square prism.

Ace exhales sharply to release the frustration he feels at having failed. He also shakes his head for good measure and then ponders what different approach he can take that might actually see him succeed in returning to his feet.

His pondering takes a lot longer than he feels it should, but he puts that down to the continued feeling of the fog in his head. It’s a mass that feels less like a thick mist as it instead rumbles angrily, similar to how a storm cloud would just before it dumps its moisture down on the unsuspecting world below. Except Ace’s brain fog doesn’t seem willing to dump its moisture and move on, much to his irritation.

Then, having fathomed that he could attempt manoeuvring out of his current position and onto his knees before then trying to see if he can stand, decides that he is unlikely to come up with a better course of action. So that is exactly what Ace tries and before long manages to fold one of his legs underneath his body. However, he quickly realises that whatever action he has performed is unnatural and gets massive surges of nail biting pain tear up his leg with such severity that he feels the need to scream aloud. He doesn’t, and manages to suppress the screams of pain and instead shift his body just enough to release the pressure he had put upon his own leg. The problem is in doing so Ace has now undone everything he had achieved, putting him right back at square one.

Ace exhales sharply for a second time. He feels so hindered by his brain fog that he resorts to viciously shaking his head side-to-side in hopes of dislodging or, at the very least, moving the fog to somewhere other than the forefront of his mind. He thinks that if he can just achieve that then perhaps he will be able to think straight and actually achieve something other than causing himself pain.

The shaking of his head partially works and seems to force the fog toward the back of his head. Ace can’t say if that is what has actually happened, but that is how it feels in the moments prior to Ace trying and this time succeeding in shifting his position to one that elicits no painful response from his body. A quick flash of a smile tears across Ace’s face in response to the small victory. He quickly suppresses it however and then returns his focus to the task at hand. He can’t afford to get complacent or cocky.

Following the small victory Ace manages to reposition his other leg and then to his relief finds that he is on his knees. He looks around and almost immediately concludes he must shimmy to the nearest wall, which he does with little issue. His plan is to use the wall of the square prism as a brace and support as he transitions from being on his knees to the soles of his booted feet.

Ace hadn’t realised before now that his feet are covered in thick rubber soled boots. Now that he has however, he is thankful for their presence.

For some reason Ace had feared that his feet would be bare. In turn those thought had been causing his skin to crawl as he imagined the filth around him as it pressed between his toes and into the pores of his skin. But with the discovery of him wearing boots he no longer feels his skin crawling and disgust welling up from deep inside him.

All of a sudden Ace realises he is on his feet. Yet, he doesn’t quite rejoice at the achievement, which occurred during his thoughts about him discovering his feet are wrapped with boots and the disgust the thoughts of not having them had brought him prior to the realisation. The problem for Ace is that the wall is still serving as a brace to keep him balanced. The red haired man can’t be sure his balance will be sufficient without it, but knows that before long he will have to test it regardless. If he doesn’t he’ll be stuck here in this dimly lit space covered in dirt for the rest of his natural life. Ace has no idea how long that might be, like he doesn’t know how long he’s been down here, how he got here or even where here is, but they are all questions for another time. Right now he has to test his balance and so he takes the risk and pushes himself off from the wall.

His fingers, which had been sunk into the thick sludge that coats the walls around him, are now free. Though, Ace continues to grimace because of the sticky wet sludge he can feel smeared across his fingers. He doesn’t dare look at his fingers. He is sure if he does he might heave. Then to make matters worse he starts to consider what state his back must be in as a result of having slid it up against that same sludge covered wall. But he ignores the sudden thoughts which bring him disgust as he pushes them aside to instead focus on the fact that he is stood on his own two feet now. It’s a miracle; Ace dares to say to himself while a wide smile is cut across his slender pale face.

Unfortunately, while looking down to fully grasp his success he catches sight on the filth that is covering his legs. He sneers at the sight of the thick, almost gag inducing muck before his eyes, thankful only because it seems to be odourless.

Ace isn’t sure why he feels the need to gag at the sight of it, but represses the urge nonetheless and then decides he needs to attempt to at least get some of the filth off of him. So he does just that and begins to wipe at the thick muck, scooping it up in his hands and then flinging it toward the darkened concrete beneath his feet. He ignores the slow oozing sensation he can feel on his fingers as he does this, but can’t stop the shudders caused by the raising of the hairs on his back.

By the time Ace decides he’s removed about as much of the muck as is humanly possible, five minutes have passed. It also appears to coincide with the moment when the shudders tearing up and down his spine reach a near unbearable level.

Still, Ace decides he needs to risk looking at the state of his legs following the filth removal. He didn’t dare look while he was doing it, at least not properly. Instead he’d made sure he was faced away from the light, so now has to manoeuvre back toward the dim yellow bulb near the ceiling of the square prisms dead-end. As soon as does so and catches sight of the state of his hands he immediately regrets his decisions and has to suppress a dry heave that sees him turn his head and then vigorously rub his hands together. The rubbing of his hands has the desired effect as Ace feels clumps of the dirt form into larger masses that quickly depart the appendages. With each passing second Ace feels the dirt on his hands lessen until finally the red haired man dares to look at them once more. They hadn’t been the focus of his glances before but the sight of them had revolted him to such a pitch that he needed to turn away fast.

This time Ace doesn’t gag or heave. Instead he simply lets out a low grumble while he turns his hands over examining them. They are still a state, blackened by the dirt, but at least there is no longer any thick sludge between his fingers.

That’s why Ace soon drops his hands to his sides and then gazes around properly at the space he is in. The dead-end is singular, which gives the red haired man more than a healthy dose of relief to learn. If it hadn’t been then he doesn’t know what he would have done, as that would have meant he would be trapped down here. Ace can’t think of many things worse than being trapped beneath the surface never able to see the overworld again. Not that he remembers the overworld. Perhaps that should strike him as strange, but it doesn’t.

However, seeing as he is in a square prism with a single end, that means he has only one avenue to take. So with enough time wasted, Ace dares to take a step. He doesn’t think at first about how his legs might resist him and how that could result in him tumbling back to the floor of this space. By the time such a thought actually enters his head he’s taken three steps and not a single one has seen his legs refuse or resist his subconscious orders.

Ace concludes that this means that the refusal of his legs to comply and be argumentative has passed. He’s happy to know that as he urges himself to continue onward.

Jack Offed Jill

That night Jack offed Jill
All the blood that did spill
A nightmare wrapped in theatre
What a visceral picture
With all the knives in the back
Brutality did not lack
Tale of the century
Twisted by pure treachery
Lies that would fill a sea
It was never a hope filled story
Just two souls stuck in a rut
Neither wanted to give up
And now one is dead and the other in chains
Horror story of how much like can change

Storm

Rain on the window pane
Dark clouds have come again
Lashing down on all that’s below
Everything continues on though
As the water pools and gathers
Creating new temporary rivers
Filled with life that will thrive
Even once the storm subsides
While the winds howls away
Snapping at the long decay
Columns topple to the ground
Making an enormous sound
But most resist against the gust
Refusing to join those that bust
While the storm rages on
Oblivious of everyone

Surmise

You want blood for what you surmise
Wish I could say its a surprise
As blood spirals drown the drain
It starts all over again
With a fist to the throat
You just want someone to choke
A tongue like a knife
You twist it deep inside
Inflicting upon others your lies
Never willing to compromise
Too busy making rash judgement
Aiming to make pain abundant
You care little for the innocent
Condemned below your altar of sacrament
As you slice to the bone
Nothing but screams and a moan
Addiction to the violence
Convinced of your higher purpose
Psycho to the core
You command a new bloody war

Peeled Away

When the victim isn’t quite so innocent where do you suggest we sit?
I feel like running just to try and get away from what feels like a skit
If only this was something that was quite so simple
We could pop it like some unwanted ugly pimple
But reality is never quite as black and white as we’d like to believe
This universe is shrouded in masses of near limitless shades of grey
So look in the mirror and see if you can lie
Ultimately it will all unravel and you’ll ask why
I did too and that’s why I’m stood right in this very spot
I’m arguing with myself about how this is now all I’ve got
I don’t feel pride when I admit that I was a part of the tale
The very same one which is now threatening to tip the scale
Cause none of this was ever meant to go this far
Should have stayed in the back of that dive of a bar
Instead we invented a web of how to rise above the rest
We’d always wanted to become the very best
But at no point did we consider that this might be wrong
Had we possessed a conscious it might have rang like a gong
A warning sign to tell us to quit while we’re ahead
To us that would have been like lying down dead
We refused to relent and that’s why we’re here
I’m the witness ratting on my old dear
That’s why I just want to run so far far away
But this trial will not let that happen, OK
So I admit all the deeds that we ever did
While you exclaim about how I hid
Neither of us can say we do not deserve
But I just want to transition off this curve
It’s why my first two lines were spoken to begin with
Cause I have nothing left in this sullied world that is mine to give