| Something is wrong, inside of me
|
| And finally now I think I see
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| Something has been wrong, for years over years
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| I stand alone, in a crowded room
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| And nobody knows, no one but you
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| Something has been wrong for years
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| But I’m not ready
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| To fill my pockets full of rocks
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| 'Cause even a broken clock can get read twice a day
|
| But I’m not ready
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| To swap my shoes for concrete blocks
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| 'Cause I can’t afford to let time, just slip away
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| And I’m not ready, to throw it all away
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| Consider this, my final notice
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| Deleting your numbers from my phone
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| Well it’s time to move on
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| Passport, escapades
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| Airoplane runaways
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| Burn my clothes and bury my songs
|
| But I’m not ready
|
| To fill my pockets full of rocks
|
| 'Cause even a broken clock can get read twice a day
|
| But I’m not ready
|
| To swap my shows for concrete blocks
|
| 'Cause even a broken clock can get read twice a day
|
| And I’m not ready
|
| To fill my pockets, my pockets full of rocks
|
| 'Cause even a broken clock can get read twice a day
|
| 'Cause I’m not ready
|
| To swap my shoes, to swap my shoes
|
| 'Cause even a broken clock can get read twice a day
|
| And I’m not ready to throw it all away |