Backed away from what I know. Past the point of no return. That simple concept, why can’t I put into words? Standing in, a feeble guard—my transference at large distilled to a song for all those things that remain on the inside. What’s left of all we have refrains. I’ll sing it at the top of my lungs but I’ll never talk about it, just walk around it. In the wake and all alone; I still see you walk away. And anger will confound my attempt at a consoling verse. Never mind the things unsaid, at last I found the confidence through a song for all those things that remain on the inside.