Lose your grip

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?