Cold Wind Calling - You ft. Marty S. Dalton | Текст песни

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• Cold Wind Calling
• You ft. Marty S. Dalton

You find comfort these days in a drunken state, pull a layer of fog over your secrets buried beneath, guilt free for a short eternity till you fall asleep and then life repeats.
It will all be over soon though, I promise. The fight is finally done.
Don’t you know you’re capable of so much more
How has no one ever told you that before?
You gotta believe me, there’s nothing worse than falling short of your potential, and you have so much more of that than so many others that I know.
I want you to realize that there is more opportunity in those moments of uncertainty than there ever was at any other time in your life, so be ready to dive head first for the things that might hurt the worst and risk losing what you love to something you don’t know.
Where will you turn when there’s nothing left? You swear you’ve tried your best but your eyes tell me different, and I thought your best would be better.
You took the road less traveled, traced back your footsteps with symbols embedded into the gravel, and watched in awe as the storm failed to disturb them despite their efforts.
And here you are now.
Here at the Great Becoming. Your first step from the road to the dusty trail. The rescue, like wind finally catching the sail.
The next move when you’re backed into the corner. The escape from the top floor -- you're at the turning point to face the lions.
The unexpected choice when you’re out of options. The zombie ambitions, kicking over their headstones and crawling up the sides of the grave to make headlines: You can’t bury a dream that refuses to get slept on. So hit the ground running, this is your Great Becoming,
The arrival of yourself to who you want to be. Where you want to be. No maps, no instructions, no role-models. Just the instinct to unlock an identity from behind a rib-cage dungeon and set it free. To look into the mirror and be better than content, to be proud of the fight and the scars and time spent. You will not give up now. The answer isn’t easy but it is simple: You are the only you. And you will get up and go. You will get up and go.The struggle is fog, and like fog it will fade. And you will look back and say: I set my mind to do and I did, to sing and I sang, and I spill my heart to find it.
You spilled your heart to find yourself, sang the same songs over and over till you believed they were true.
Your motives are so deeply rooted that they surpass the laws of the universe and expand into something so much more ambiguous. I’m not sure whether or not I’m jealous or spiteful, either way I’m something and that’s better than being nothing I guess.
We rose from the dark ages,
Out of an era of self indulgence and ignorance.
We're no different from the rest.
I found you in the gutter,
Found you lost without direction.
And acted like my ambitions were a compass. I kind of bent the truth knowing that my true north was not the same as yours.
The magnetic pull on my heart leads me away from the ordinary; coordinates ranging from east to west and stretching past any boundaries I thought existed. But we marked the spots on the maps and adjusted accordingly. We tried to keep an open mind about it all in hopes that everything would turn out alright. We laughed at the magnitude of our journey, as if it was the only way to keep our heads up when the rain pounded in torrents, with deafening vibrations leaving our eardrums begging for mercy.
But we laughed, because I guess we thought you'd have to be some kind of crazy to brave the elements like we did.
And we were, we were children at heart, wild at heart. The journey kept us feeling young. We lived our days as evolving pieces stuck in limbo between childhood and adulthood.
We walk on the same soil that our fathers and brothers are buried beneath, where we will all be laid to rest someday. Our children will take our place, and our place in history closes where new dynasties and legacy are given root through inevitable changing of times and shifting plates. Take comfort in the fact that when we are gone, when we are dead, the seeds we planted live on through memories solidified in earshot, anecdotal translations of those we never knew were listening. Somewhere down the line someone will stumble across these words and know our stories. They will understand our lives, not by preconceived notion or tainted belief, but rather from face value honesty stored through ink on yellowed pages and creases on corners of selections we deemed more valuable than the rest. No one will know the secrets we kept buried beneath our beds or the lies we fed to save face but rather they will know what impact we had, what waves we made and the webs we wove to give light to something beyond what we knew.We made our way through overgrown grass and weeds to find something worth leaving behind. Taking fragments from the dust and bestowing them in memory boxes to be preserved for an illegitimate eternity.

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