| I hate myself,
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| more than I ever let on.
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| I’m burned out at 22.
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| I lived too fast and I loved too much and I’ll die too young,
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| but I chose this cup that I drank from.
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| Knew what I was getting into.
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| But I couldn’t let out what I had to keep in.
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| I’m ashamed of myself and unspeakable sins,
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| that I’ve committed and:
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| I’ve made mistakes,
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| but I’ll find my way.
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| There’s no explanation for,
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| the things I’ve failed at before.
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| They can’t hold my hand.
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| It just hurts to be a man,
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| Through the tortures of the damned.
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| If I only had an axe,
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| I’d sever the ties I’ve made with the world.
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| Maybe I can be a stranger,
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| in a strange place.
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| If I start now, maybe I can be saved.
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| If I only had a mask,
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| I’d cover these bleeding eyes.
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| They’re bloodshot now but they’ll be black by dawn.
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| If I wake up now,
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| I can be pure again.
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| Look at me now, I’m on the tracks with my back towards
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| the last train leaving town. |