Brink Of Something Beautiful. Doctrine Of Ethos. Sleep And His Half-brother, Death. Zeneszám

I built my own radio. I sat on rooftops to set my trap. The air is ripe, the night is crisp but there's no signal out tonight. I sat for years in this spot; I swear I heard you speak. I'm still convinced our signals will cross, but my breaths are getting heavy. This was the day I woke up. When we wake we become busy men on borrowed New York time. But I think it's crucial that I tell you that you're beautiful. I swear I heard a voice coming through, trying to reach out to me there, but already those days are gone. This gun I hold has become too heavy and as a result my aim has suffered. It was then I smashed this radio up against the wall and decided against those rooftop dreams; and decided against my long held dreams. My angels and demons are one and the same. My insights plague my insides, my muse and my bane. Now I'm that busy man on borrowed time smashing damned radios in the mean time. I swear I heard a voice coming through, trying to reach out to me there, but already those days are gone. I built a radio today and I swear I heard you speak. As the sweat wets my face I look up to take a breath. I look up to take my last breath. It's the difference in the man that makes the difference in the end. We're standing on tall mountains and we're drowning in rivers. We're the best but the worst at everything we do. It's the sight of the fall rather than the stand that we take. And it's the flaws that we remember at last. And accepting at last that it makes no sense on this eve of an unimportant day. I'm chewing on these words I said, but I'm choking now and there is no sound on this eve of an unimportant day. I'm holding you close but I'm miles away...

(Thanks to Timothy for these lyrics)