| These are the same streets that he walked down
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| These are the same roads that he drove
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| And these are the ways that he went bad
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| Just off the highway by Ventura
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| Blood rolling down by the motel walk
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| And that’s my blood
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| My family crest is a stranger’s blood
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| But that’s not me
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| I count the times that he chose badly
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| I count the times that I went wrong
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| It’s not the same
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| Sometimes I guess that I lose my temper
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| Hate myself and I curse my name
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| It’s just like him (ch)
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| Sometimes I think that I’m not human
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| I wonder why I never cry
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| And then I know
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| Blood rolling down from the Chevron station
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| I know that none of it was mine
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| And then I know |