| Snow piled on tables, up on scales, into bags.
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| Late night beer and smoke, too sleepy and awake.
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| Crazy eyes over eggs, crazy eyes like mine,
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| Cloths from a streetcart, too much beer for the time at hand.
|
| Night time passed by me again.
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| Phone calls that should never be made.
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| Phone calls that speed last night into today.
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| So, where will you be in ten years?
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| This is the part where you don’t stay right here.
|
| Smoking pain’s a pang beneath the left ribcage.
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| Gasping idle breathing,
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| Burning to these thoughts of leaving.
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| Was it cold hands gripping fears
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| Of being all alone
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| In the world when I got there?
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| I’m choking in my sleep.
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| Fostered aching tension,
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| Demented bruised inventions.
|
| Unbelievable, burnt out and seasonal.
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| And I’ve been saying this for years.
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| Packing bags, not cleaning all of last night’s empty beers.
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| A war of words waged by the faithless.
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| Screaming in deep sleep.
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| Unjustifiable stagnation
|
| So where will I be in ten years?
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| Hopefully I won’t be here.
|
| Nose and eyes betray
|
| You never did believe me
|
| Under my own skin
|
| This is the part where you don’t stay,
|
| This is the part where you don’t stay |