Sometimes you've got to get out. Out from the traps and contrivances. Out from the assumptions and roles. Where we come from is a graveyard of another time. Huddled alongside the lonely Wasatch Front, Utah County feels like a place that was never meant to survive in the 21st century. The city twists it's ugly face to the future with arrogance and incomprehension. She is nearly frozen on the tracks as time speeds down like a train, bearing the burden of momentum of her terrible judgment; unstoppable, undeniable, and in full contempt of a city that believes in one thousand myths, but doesn't realize her own danger. We were raised to believe something that will never help us. We were raised to live a life that doesn't exist. We were born as ghosts; not quite dead, but never granted life. Meanwhile, the phantoms of broken dreams and promises haunt us. They litter the valley floor like rusty piles of scrap metal that no one will claim . But we're not alone. Others, some like us, have come before. They have lain a separate track, they have set the pace, they have driven the Goldenspike. Others will come after us, and we hope to offer them our respect and support. But now, we wish to find new paths to follow. Our home is a cemetary for wasted faith. This is not the place. Instead, we believe that our lives can be demanded back from the maw of defeat. We claim authorship of our lives and choose to not die or wither in submission before we even have a chance to live. We're not sneaking out, we're breaking out; and we hope you're coming with us. Read more on Last.fm. User-contributed text is available under the Creative Commons By-SA License; additional terms may apply.