I just found out something
I already knew was growing inside of me,
and the realization just blossomed.

I'm a continuous cliche of promising words
of all who have failed;
but it's alright,
`cause I won't be coming home with excuses anymore.

These times are trying for a quasi-soldier
who has fought gambling and alcohol and depression and OCD.
And it's alright, he won't be coming home fighting anymore.

Making frivolous dreams,
a boy created hope of love for himself to comfort him through the night. Because no one would give him a fresh start at life.
All he ever wanted was a companion
to take some time to look through his eyes,
and see life as he sees it.
He came to a point in time,
make believing he was wrong all along
and miserable inside,
because he can't find a soul to pick up his pride.
When he drops to the floor to plead to his God
to give some warmth to his cold hearted wife,
it's gonna be alright,
he won't be coming home feeling alone anymore.

No not the life they've known all of their days,
they won't be the victim tonight,
and they won't be coming home.

Sometimes,
all it takes is a sawed off shotgun
and an ambitious mind filled with rage,
to cure a community of kids
who think it's cool to make fun of individuality.

And when you realize your God is compassionate to irrationality
and a life lived inhumane,
all it takes to worship is a building and a plane.
It's alright,
they won't be coming home martyrs'.

The war of all wars may be coming.
Despite the president and his cabinet safe in their mountain,
it's alright,
society won't be coming home worried anymore.

If I could give you one last piece of advice:
follow me,
I'm on my way to paradise.