| Say your message, make your peace
|
| Apotheosis half asleep
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| I heard they sell the pills to fix you
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| Hasty question, wounded knee
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| Eighteenth week of pregnancy
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| Fluorescent lights buzz in the waiting room
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| If you’re not okay, I need you to say something
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| If there’s a holy ghost in a broken home
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| I need the creaking floors and the phantom moan
|
| When the world turns the rafters into splinters in our feet
|
| You know that I’ll stand by you the way that you stood by me
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| Push yourself until you crack
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| Never thought I’d see you back
|
| Here in the town that raised and robbed you
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| Victim of drunk circumstance
|
| This brand of passive shyness can’t
|
| Restore the mess that we’ve collapsed into
|
| If you’re not okay, I need you to say something
|
| If there’s a holy ghost in a broken home
|
| I need the creaking floors and the phantom moan
|
| When the world turns the rafters into splinters in our feet
|
| You know that I’ll stand by you the way that stood by me
|
| I am guilty, I’m disgraced
|
| But I never saw a face like that
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| In all my years of wandering
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| We created, we’re destroyed
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| Desperate and overjoyed
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| I don’t feel this way for anything |