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Heaven is too high and I am once again a broken man;
Wings once more so torn and tattered—in every way they bend.
Not a chance left to be once more in flight and no will left to pretend
That I shall sail above the clouds once more before my lonesome end.
The very wings that which let me soar have now cast me down to darkened ground,
Whereon there seems to be even no blistering Hell in which to confide.
All the times you spoke “Forever” released me, yet again I am now bound
By all the times you spoke of “Never,” no longer standing by my side.
The wounds are too deep now and I know the scars will never fade.
There I watch time sleep now and the light will never turn from shade.
Yet again recalling all the selfish mistakes I’ve made
In this pool of remorse, until the water’s surface is overhead, I’ll wade.

Heaven is too high and I am once again a broken man,
Knowing what lies above but holding no means by which to ascend,
For these wings are once again so torn and tattered—in every way they bend,
And now they ache and I will sit and writhe until the imminent end,
While you run farther and farther and away,
Escape the conflicted circumstances of myself and of these wings.
And before I abandon all hope, leave it lying as a shattered, dead display,
I must see your face just this once more to recall all the memories it brings.
Because the wounds are too deep now and I know the scars will never fade.
There I watch time sleep now and the light will never turn from shade.
You must let me either fly from this place of regret in which I wade,
Or push me under the cold, dark water again, to depths I cannot evade.