| Probably never shoulda even opened my mouth
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| And I had no right to say what anything meant to you
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| I’m still trying to figure out what it all meant to me
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| We all know sometimes I speak too quickly
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| Been known for choosing all the wrong words
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| Seems I wasn’t very careful when traveling back in time
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| Remembering how I’d wished we coulda burned a little bit brighter
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| The second time around
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| I was holding out for something greater
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| Than broken slogans, empty sing-alongs
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| I still do
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| It’s still not
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| Maybe it woulda been easier if I was less honest
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| When giving the answers Lord knows can be so hard to hear
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| Like the older we get the less that there seems to be worth fighting for
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| Don’t you think that makes me sad too? |
| But I was just reciting bacic math
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| Same tired words
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| Familiar let downs
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| I could not help but see all those lines that you were drawing in the sand
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| Would blow away at the slightest wind
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| But I have been giving it some thought and I have decided
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| That I’m not sorry, not sorry, not sorry about nothing
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| And I never shoulda named names when it wasn’t you
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| But all the faces, all the ideas, bands that came and went and came again
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| Just could not find the patience to differentiate
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| But based on your reaction the lesson still remains
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| Bonds built on words don’t mean a thing to me
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| And with friendships like ours who needs friendships anyway
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| I didn’t then
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| I dont now |