A sudden freeze that starts to choke,
A room dissolving into smoke.
The alarms were all flashing red,
No shelter for the road ahead.
A hundred questions hanging in the air,
A quiet damage far beyond repair.
Two angles of an unrecorded scene,
With all the bitter distance in between.
And what’s the point of you?
A soldier who defends,
Or traitor who descends?
It’s just a point of view.
And what’s the point of you?
The one who breaks and bends,
Or broken who amends?
It’s just a point of view.
A spring stretched out between two states,
While time ahead accelerates.
Still anchored there, yet pulling here,
A tension limit looks so near.
A labyrinth of questions with no door,
Where living embers burn across the floor.
A prison built of everything unsaid,
Where nothing heals and nothing’s really dead.
And what’s the point of you?
A soldier who defends,
Or traitor who descends?
It’s just a point of view.
And what’s the point of you?
The one who breaks and bends,
Or broken who amends?
It’s just a point of view.
Where nothing heals and nothing’s really dead.
Where nothing heals and nothing’s really dead.
Where nothing heals and nothing’s really dead.
Where nothing heals and nothing’s really dead.
A soldier who defends,
Or traitor who descends?
The one who breaks and bends,
Or broken who amends?
It’s just a point of view.
It’s just a point of view.
It’s just a point of view.
The point of you.