It's a chilling silence.
The kind that comes when the passengers of a falling plane come to terms with their fate.
We'd say our prayers if we knew them (Hail Mary, mother of this burning wreck, this silent night, this worthless scream, this shallow grave.) We dig graves between sidelines and bury who we've been trying to become our entire lives.
So, now who am I? Who am I? Just another sinner? Just another saint? Someone there when you get lonely? Because are heros aren't who they used to be.
They're just men, depressed, like we'll be. Its high time I take off this face to see who I am. (We'll never let these dreams die.) "You're not supposed to think this much about matters like these. Just smile, shake their hand and accept your degree." We won't all change the world, will we? I can't get this god damned heart to beat.