| Just this morning, out on my steps
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| It was raining
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| I couldn’t muster up the energy to go back inside to keep from getting wet
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| Making excuses, I know the truth is
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| The glue that holds me down is feeling unwell
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| Contemplating months spent hating myself
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| Not content, but somewhat comfortable with self-contempt
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| Maybe life isn’t broken, but just bent
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| I’m not convinced, something’s gotta fucking give
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| And that’s when it hit me, this house doesn’t have to be haunted anymore
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| Open up the doors, let the breeze in
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| The light at the end of the tunnel is the experience that we all seem to funnel
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| Back into the bodies that we have rented
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| Life doesn’t always make sense
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| But you’re the only thought that does
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| This house doesn’t have to be haunted anymore
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| Our house doesn’t feel at all haunted anymore
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| Life doesn’t always make sense
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| But you’re the only thought that does
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| I don’t know if you remember
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| We were half asleep in my bed
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| And I said, «One day you’d be asked if you would marry me»
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| And barely coherently, under your breath, you said, «I would»
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| I’m not sure you even know that I heard, but those two words resonated harder
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| than anything
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| And once again gave me a reason to wake up
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| In the morning |