| I wake up everyday with a hole in my head and chest
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| I need to feel something so I burn my arm on a cigarette
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| But if you said you were cold, I’d set myself on fire
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| And try and use your existence to feel inspired, once again
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| You know I hate your guts, but you’re my one true friend?
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| I swear I won’t give up, I wanna feel again
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| I went and saw my GP and they said my brain has a cold
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| Try to get some rest and use this medicine, to make the feelings go
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| They told me «Stevie, your issues will amplify
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| If you continue to allow environments where they thrive»
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| You know I hate your guts, but you’re my one true friend?
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| I swear I won’t give up, I wanna feel again
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| Don’t hang out in wrong crowds or walk around at night, I was taught
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| But, there is irony in that I’m most unsafe at home with my own thoughts
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| You know I hate your guts, but you’re my one true friend?
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| I swear I won’t give up, I wanna feel again
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| I’m sitting up on my roof
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| Looking out over Brunswick Street
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| And looking down, wondering
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| Hoping
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| Tomorrow will come and get me outta my head |