.Used Continuation of Pattern.

Eager presumptions cut down your will, to be where you want to be.

Over-exposed in acted scenic quarrel.

Running on a used continuation of pattern.

Faking who you are to get a little attention.

Your marginal pre-empted attempts to thrill ones-self has grown into a dampened predicate of human nature.

The dark side of your accusations is nothing but the third degree.

Can't predict this misery, brought among me through this realization of a begotten re-run.

No more pretending to be the thing you long for...

My time long gone, but just begun.

Sacrificing all I had, and what learn I created, to become more or less then you will ever know.

Understatements of my actions, in lung and under thrown.

The remaining civil fake on the last implosion of a broken arrow.

The cause of all accidents, your internal combustion is a time limit steadily accroaching.

The illumination of the stars, the synchronicity of my feet, my fortification of defeat.

The satellites bring down my words of dynamite.

No more reluctant admittance of being wrong...