The point at which you cease to bend.
With certainty I can speak
Of yourself as one who likes to seek...
... The End...
But really breaking points have long since passed
And tolerance levels long since surpassed.
Footprints fit to amend,
Maybe the end has met its end?
... The End... Of The End...
Deformed, contorted, peek over the side
To the depths where you alone can confide.
Dipping so low for the line
Like some sprinter running out of time.
... At The End... Of The End... Of The End...
The righteous and the famous,
Destined to be less than us, strangers.
Destined is just The End,
The point at which you cease to bend.
The End... Of The End... Of The End... Of The End.
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