it seems like we're all waiting for our golden years to appear - for time to grant us our eternal wish and free us from our daily tumult. through vain determination we asure every golden second, minute, and hour are captured and drained useless, until all the skin is peeled and all that remains is the faded grey insides. no we've become rusted gears - all life is gone. and i can't say anything when i've nothing left but iron to move me on. so can we try to find the life left? well it's something that i can't find, and i know it's not all in my head. why don't you look around? why can't you see there's no color left? well i'm feeling like i can't breathe. i'm feeling like i can't see. i'm feeling like i can't move. i guess i'll just stand here idle forever.