| So here I am once more in the playground of the broken hearts
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| One more experience, one more entry in a diary, self-penned
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| Yet another emotional suicide, overdosed on sentiment and pride
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| Too late to say I love you, too late to restage the play
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| Abandoning the relics in my playground of yesterday
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| I’m losing on the swings, I’m losing on the roundabouts
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| Too much, too soon, too far to go
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| Too late to play, the game is over
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| Yet another emotional suicide overdosed on sentiment and pride
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| I’m losing on the swings, I’m losing on the roundabouts
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| The game is over
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| Too late to say I love you, too late to restage the play
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| The game is over
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| I act the role in classic style
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| Of a martyr carved with a twisted smile
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| To bleed the lyric for this song
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| To write the rites to right my wrongs
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| An epitaph to a broken dream
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| To exorcise this silent scream
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| A scream that’s borne from sorrow
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| I never did write that love song
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| The words just never seemed to flow
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| Now sad in reflection
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| Did I gaze through perfection
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| And examine the shadows on the other side of morning
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| And examine the shadows on the other side of mourning
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| Promised wedding now a wake
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| The fool escaped from paradise will look over his shoulder and cry
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| Sit and chew on daffodils and struggle to answer why?
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| As you grow up and leave the playground
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| Where you kissed your prince and found your frog
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| Remember the jester that showed you tears
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| The script for tears
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| So I’ll hold my peace forever when you wear your bridal gown
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| In the silence of my shame, the mute that sang the siren’s song
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| Has gone solo in the game, I’ve gone solo in the game
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| But the game is over
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| Can you still say you love me |