| At midnight I’ll be leaving for a place I’ve never been
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| I feel a bit relieved, although I shouldn’t
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| And I re-read all your letters that the prison let me keep
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| They’re the only thing that got me this far
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| This one is the last I’ll ever write
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| And I’m sorry for the hurt that I brought this life
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| I hope that you move on to find somebody to give you what I couldn’t
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| To the hell with the martyrs, to hell with trying to be
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| I know I don’t deserve this life or glory
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| And there won’t b any angels up there singing m to sleep
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| You’re the closest thing to heaven I’ll ever see
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| The little things you did that I let bother me before
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| Now I wish those little things would last forever
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| And we used to count the time by how long we’d spent apart
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| Now my clock is dust on the floor
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| And we used to joke about never growing up
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| We were drunk and yelling, «If we die, whatever!»
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| Now the only dream I have is watching you get old forever
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| So throw away the memories, burn all my things
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| I know I don’t deserve to be a story
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| When they ask me for my last words, I know what they’ll be
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| I loved every cell that makes you who you are and everything between
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| In less than 24 hours, I’ll just be dirt and flowers
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| I hope it brings the families peace
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| When the darkness of the tunnel is the last place I go
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| You’re the closest thing to heaven I’ll ever need |