I'm racing, racing towards it like when I was a small boy. Cutting through a waving field decorated by summer sunlight, unable to remember, unable to forget. Unable yet at peace, unable yet scared. I'm racing, racing towards it with fear and excitement. They seem unseperable, they seem so far apart. They are my close friends, they are my very ghosts. I'm racing, racing towards it, I'm holding perfectly still. In the race of, in the race of standing still.
Writer(s): Mellinger Scott, Dan Weyandt, Smith Jesse
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