| A little kid turns the corner, quick on his feet
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| My vision’s no good no more; |
| he’s just a smudge in the street
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| The colors blur in my eyes just like ink in the rain
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| The city, soaked in its lights, is slowly washing away
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| Everything is just a background, waiting to take shape and appear
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| Inside my windshield eyes with Vaseline tears
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| Muffled chuckles and leaky ceilings
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| Hazy coffee stains, collectible keyrings
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| A scrapbook of snapshots taken in shaky concealment
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| Never trusted my love and her wallpaper feelings
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| There’s something so comforting about her uncertain arms
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| There’s beauty in danger, safety in harm
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| A five dollar psychic offers bargain predictions
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| Connecting my murdering a mantis to my moderate affliction
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| Once when I was a child I ran to my door; |
| upon grabbing the knob
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| I crushed the prostrate bug inside of my palm
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| I watched his little green frame fall far from my hand
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| I guess his prayers were never answered by God, He got the upper hand
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| Struck blind over time inside flashes in steps
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| We all pay for our sins in the most subtle respects
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| How quick we forget how fast the past is washed away
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| Diluted in music, TV, and the talk of the day
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| How slick a little kiss can get her bony hips to block the way
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| Lend the world your ears and they’ll just sweet-nothing it all away
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| You made your bed
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| Now, you must sleep
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| Underneath the sheets
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| There’s something inside this house, footsteps by the couch
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| It’s all shade and shadows tracking the suspect silence down
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| It’s not the sounds they make, it’s all the noises that we never hear
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| Old cliches on attraction, raindrops after the weather clears
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| Tapping fingers for living; |
| counting out the notes
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| The door ticks when it sits open and rattles when clicks closed
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| Twelve lines, one in the light switch, a chip in the globe
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| The radiator is always breathing, teeth clenched and lips float
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| It’s more than I bargained for, but nothing I can’t handle
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| I learned to listen for the kitchen, feel dust fall on the mantle
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| Everything is done in inches, fingertips, and little skills
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| Nothing is done quickly except tying shoes and electric bills
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| The relentless drills, constant repetition, daily grind
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| Same set of pants put on one leg at a time
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| Every morning’s filled with breath and the rest is just fine
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| I never forget my mistakes but sometimes I forget I’m blind |