| I had a brother once
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| He drowned in a bathtub
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| Before he’d ever learned
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| How to talk
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| And I don’t know
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| What his name was
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| But my mother does
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| I heard her say it once:
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| Padraic, my prince, I have all but died
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| From the sheer weight of my shame
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| You cried but no one came
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| And the water filled your tiny lungs
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| Appear, my dear, and cry for me
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| It was six years ago today
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| That I laid you in your grave
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| Your sweet young skin was shining then too
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| So tonight to celebrate
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| I will
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| I will poison myself
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| Another coughing, shaking fit in a bathroom
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| That is spinning
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| And I close the door
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| And I rest my head on the tile floor
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| Sickness and sleep turning me cold
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| And I’m still not sure
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| Is there some better place I could be heading towards?
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| Where the selfishly sick and self-absorbed
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| Are welcome
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| I saw the future once, I was drunk
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| In a phone booth
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| My eyes were wet and red
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| But I could not tell what was said
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| And through the screams of the traffic
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| Voices carried, saying, «I'm sorry…»
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| On a day so gray it’s black inside
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| Watching churches on TV
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| In a coma, you don’t dream
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| You just hope that someone sits with you
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| Babies turn blue when they’re ignored
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| Like the sky on summer days
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| Before you turn and walk away
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| It has changed you
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| So tonight to compensate
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| I will
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| I will poison myself
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| Another coughing, shaking fit in a bathroom
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| That is spinning |