| We’re always wasted on the feelings of what we pretended
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| 11 years old, a clean slate, and rose colored lenses
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| Even the most drowsy summers still remain sun kissed
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| And the coldest winters are the ones that become nostalgic
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| Maybe it’s another sign, it always was with us
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| But no one really sleeps alone when you are loved
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| When we’re always wasted on the feelings of what we pretended
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| 30 years old, a clean slate, and rose colored lenses
|
| Even the most drowsy summers still remain sun kissed
|
| And the coldest winters are the ones that become nostalgic
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| No one else cuts these wrists, it’s always me I fight
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| No one else chooses these thoughts I have at night
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| But no one really sleeps alone when you are loved
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| We’re always wasted on the feelings of what we pretended
|
| 60 years old, a clean slate, and rose colored lenses
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| No one else does it like I do
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| But no one really sleeps alone when you are loved |