Adapting to Damnation

I man made of fear and flesh, stand before the light, with guilt to stain my teeth, I speak truths. Driving at 85 miles per hour, my head is pounding, heart racing, white dashes, white dashes, you have no idea how this feels, should I take it off the beaten path, and plow head on into oncoming traffic, this is the unbearable, this is the death of kin, I am made of only flesh, and for this reason I bow my head to misery, the constant crutch that catches me, is the smile you emit when I'm around. The only crutch that's keeping me here is the mornings I wake up and you're well, we are dying to care, we are dying to feel, burning the candle at both ends, rather burn out, rather run out of track, but for some reason I can't quite get that far.