You might think that over time Our balance should've been earned, But time and time again we find Our mistakes have returned. Even if I've sworn repent And promised, "I won't stay" I find myself back here again With the same old pale grey weight. How many times must we become the ones Who knows where it ends? How should we break this cycle? ...and so it goes, and so it goes, It's the pressure, I suppose, No matter where I start to roam, It doesn't matter to me. "It doesn't matter much to me" - I keep telling that to myself, I strengthen myself with distance From the same old pale grey weight. How many times must we become the ones Who knows where it ends? How many times must we force ourselves To say farewell to the past? To defeat myself as my rival, To become one with the pack, To break this cycle, To shape what the future lends. Time measures nothing but itself. It heals the past to wound what the future repels. Time measures nothing but itself. It heals the past to wound what the future repels. Time measures nothing but itself.