• I'll wake up again,
    And my head spins,
    I'm filled with pain,
    Like needles and pins.

    But I'm going to make it,
    I don't care how.
    I'm going to live,
    I'll figure this out.

    Why I'm back here again,
    I cannot be sure.
    But one this is certain,
    I'm crying out,
    How I'm filthy--unpure.

    But I'm going to make it.
    I could care less how.
    I'm going to stay alive.
    And I'll make it out.

    The floors of this place
    Are covered in memories.
    Connected to him,
    Connected to me.
    So here I stand,
    With my life
    In his hands.
    And who is he,
    Just a stranger
    You see?

    I'm going to make it.
    This is how,
    Just kicking and screaming,
    I'll make it out.

    I'll use my hands,
    And I'll hold on,
    For what I have,
    Will soon be gone.
    So I hold it tight,
    And it slips away.
    Did I do something wrong,
    Was I led astray?

    I cannot believe.
    Not in this.
    Because all that's left,
    Is this shattered compass.
    It leads me to wrong places.
    And I meet the wrong people.
    All of these faces,
    They rest under steeples.
    But I sit on the streets,
    As men take what is mine.
    But I don't care,
    It's only lies.

    And what's left is this,
    A shattered compass,
    Just keep on moving,
    And holding on.