| Easy now, you’re dreaming of a ledge
|
| Talk yourself down from every story
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| Call the game you’re losing again
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| And you show no signs of scoring
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| On the passenger side where my glasses were shattered
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| Losing myself at the end of your sentence
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| Call and pretend that your discounted man
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| Who cries on command, will soon pick up the phone
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| Go to him now while he’s not so distracted
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| By his own magic tricks, by the widows he’s husbanded
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| With the orphanage closed, it’s so hard to know
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| Which childhood dream he’s still planning on leaving
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| In the grocery story, where a man is an audience
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| Time is on sale and the band is no one you’ve heard of
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| And there is no applause, just the sound of alarms
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| The register yawns at the sound of you leaving |