| So unaffectionate, so insecure
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| You claim to know a thing or two about heartache
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| And what it’s like to have your insides torn out
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| And I believe you
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| I see it every time your pallbearer’s palor is obscured by the darkness
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| Dancing across your face, and when the blackness veils your eyes in pain
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| I know what it’s like when memories make you wince
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| And love letters read like obituaries
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| And photo albums are the books of the dead
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| I need no reminders, no more reminders
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| I’ll forget the past and lay it to rest
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| If I had my way
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| I’d cut the calluses off your breaking heart
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| If I could get past the sternum
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| Cauterize those wounds with
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| Every kiss I could give to you
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| I’m holding your heart in my hand
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| The reason it still beats
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| Am I being too cryptic?
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| Am I being too obscure?
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| Love kills, romance is dead
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| And I don’t even trust myself
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| But I love you
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| And you can pull my wings apart
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| And pin me down under glass
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| Until the end of days if it can help you
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| Discover that we share the same pain
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| I just hope you write your thesis
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| Before your subject is dead
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| No life after death |