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I swear that I'll make it out of this year,
though I may not know where I am going
it's certainly better than here.
I swear that I'll make it out of this year,
though I've lost all the things I believed in;
Hey, I'm still breathing.

We all lost a friend,
I'm sick of everyone dying.
If winter would end I'd be fine,
I'd stand in the sun,
till' it felt alright.
But it never comes,
and the city's so silent.
These people are all floating by,
and I'm swept away
by a concrete tide.

And some days I can see the shore,
but nothing's as beautiful as it was before.
It's hard to see the bright side
from the ocean floor.

I swear that I'll make it out of this year,
though I may not know where I am going
it's certainly better than here.
I swear that I'll make it out of this year,
though I've lost all the things I believed in;
Hey, I'm still breathing.

I've learned with loss
comes nightmares of dying,
when the devil, and death, and me
are spinning around in the deep blue sea.
And the space between
is just time that I'm buying,
convincing myself it's alright
that you're not here and we might be fine.

I wanna' believe that you're alive,
and that I might see you again
some other place and some other time.
I quit that way of thinking the last day of july.

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