| i dreamt of a fever,
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| one that would cure me of this cold, winter set heart.
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| with heat to melt these frozen tears and burned with reasons
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| as to carry on.
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| into these twisted months i plunge without a light to follow
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| but i swear that i would follow anything
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| just get me out of here.
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| and so you get six months to adapt
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| and you get two more to leave town.
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| in the event that you do adapt, we still might not want you around.
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| and i fell for the promise of a life with a purpose
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| but i know that’s impossible now.
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| and so i drink to stay warm
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| and to kill selected memories
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| because i just can’t think anymore about that or about her tonight
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| and i give myself three days to feel better
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| or else i swear i’m driving off a fucking cliff
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| because if i can’t learn to make myself feel better
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| then how can i expect anyone else to give a shit
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| and i scream for the sunlight or a car to take me anywhere
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| just get me past this dead and eternal snow
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| because i swear that i am dying, slowly but its happening
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| so if there is a perfect spring that’s waiting somewhere
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| just take me there and lie to me and say it’s going to be alright
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| its going to be alright, yeah you worry too much kid,
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| its going to be alright. |