| All around, pictures of craters
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| With crooked necks and teeth
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| Hands glued to glass
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| Sweaty palms gaping through windows
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| Walk slow with cement for feet
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| Straight cautious steps
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| Paperweights taking up space
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| Littering sidewalks and streets
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| Still so empty
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| Boy you wanted to see everything from above
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| And you can’t picture it any other way
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| Now you’re fastened to the ground stuck looking up
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| And you can’t help but feel like you’ve been misplaced
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| Your life’s not half bad
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| Shouldn’t you be thankful for that
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| That it’s only half
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| Time has passed but you’re still the same
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| Pushing it aside waiting till it’s too late
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| Time has passed but you’re still the same
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| Pushing it aside waiting till it’s too late
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| Forgetting faces, making this one count
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| Turn for the worst, won’t turn it around
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| Forgetting faces, making this one count
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| Turn for the worst, won’t turn it around
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| This life is finite, it’s days are numbered, they’re numbered
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| Was it something less than intended
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| Said you’ll figure it out along the way, along the way
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| This life is finite |