Lose Your Grip کے بول

The rope from which I’m hanging from It is thinning, short and worn I hope when I am reborn There are knives where should be arms I know, I know, I know I wrote this I will not be pushed around And so, and so, and so I hope this Makes you feel less overwhelmed Hand shakes in time I’ll take what’s mine Old friend tell me, do you even care That you your name Will now be dragging in the dirt? I know, I know, I know I wrote this I will not be pushed around And so, and so, and so I hope this Makes you feel less overwhelmed Hand shakes in time I will take Am I moving on or giving in? Can we end this conversation?