| Hanging above the ground
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| I sway from side to side without a feeling found
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| My feet barely sweep the floor
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| As my eyes roll back I can’t ignore
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| That these moments are numbered in sum
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| For when the clock strikes one the hand of death is sure to come
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| A life without a shade of grey, but all I see is black and wish it away
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| Choking down the barrel of a gun
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| By the end of the night my mother and father will be losing their son
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| With this burden, my closet has begun to overflow
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| While the hinges break, it seems as though I am not alone
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| I have the company of these skeletons I have stowed away
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| But soon er or later they would have to come back and haunt me.
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| Following my every step I’m begging for you to let me go
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| I’m begging you.
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| I’m begging you, to let me go
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| Oh death where is thy hand?
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| For when I greet you it is as a friend
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| It’s time to put this to an end
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| And return me to nothing from which you will send
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| My name was forgotten with the knife still fresh in my back
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| A heart turned to stone, I don’t want to live anymore
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| When a minute within this body makes me cringe
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| Strip me bare of this prison
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| I call home
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| Hanging by a thread
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| With my eyes, sewn.
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| Shut
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| Forced to be the only thing I have tried to keep away.
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| Myself
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| Kick the chair form underneath my feet.
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| Let me hang by a thread
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| Dead. |