| Polaroid pictures of youth
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| Stretched across an empty room
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| Holding on to what I miss
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| I lost myself writing this
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| The desperate youth tell themselves it isn’t forever
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| But your tongue tastes bitter, and the stink is on your collar
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| I gave up on life after giving up on help
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| So I lie in a bed of scabs where I left myself
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| Let my soul sing
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| Let my spirit fly
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| I wonder what you’re thinking now?
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| Tell me who I was, I can’t accept what I’m becoming
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| Survival was remembering, now survival is forgetting
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| This face frightens me, this face frightens me
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| My father was an irish gypsy traveller
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| Cruel and kind in equal measures
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| He used to say —
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| «If man is meek, then meeker the man, often in which we punish, and sacrifice
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| the lamb»
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| Oh, anxiety
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| you cruel, cruel lover, you keep fucking me
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| Let my soul sing
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| Let my spirit fly
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| I wonder what you’re thinking now?
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| It hurts that I’m nothing more than a memory
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| Go rot with filth, just like me, just like me
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| Let my soul sing
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| Let my spirit fly
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| I wonder what you’re thinking now? |