| Oh my broken battered body,
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| In the days when I was younger,
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| Used to fix itself quick sharp
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| After every slip and stumble.
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| But these days I’m collecting scars that don’t seem to fade,
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| Cuts and bruises that won’t go away.
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| And I used to think that I
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| Would never live past twenty five,
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| And when you think like that, each day
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| Is a gift if you survive.
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| But I’ve survived too long for my side of the deal,
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| And as I reach that shore I’m not sure how to feel.
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| I keep losing days
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| That used to take a lifetime
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| In the blinking of an eye.
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| And all these small ideas
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| Are suddenly commitments,
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| As greatness slips on by.
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| I remember well the day that I got my first tattoo:
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| I was so scared before and after I was so proud when it was new.
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| But these days I’ve gone and got me many more,
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| And sometimes I get more when I get bored.
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| One for every year I’ve lost |