| I get on the courier,
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| without ticket in hand
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| I run away from what I have lost,
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| far away, towards the cliffs
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| these tablets in hand send away the bitterness with honey
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| an insane well-being, human being how much is it worth?
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| This anxiety between is a tumor,
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| I feel it in person
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| my good humor kills me,
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| more or less every half hour
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| they tell me it happened, maybe another direction is better
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| than being closed to the toilet as if it were another dimension
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| I can't stand people,
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| beautiful only as a choir
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| if you sought redemption
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| maybe I would be like them
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| with her I write stories
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| but I know that I am alone
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| corrosive as waste buried deep underground
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| I didn't have anything but the problems in my head
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| now since they have been on the album I have something else left over
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| years of turmoil,
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| dramas that I don't list,
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| cuts from forehead to chin,
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| I bleed hard I faint.
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| I'm not afraid to leave here,
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| I have more alcohol in my body than water
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| motionless among the people running away
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| that remorse tears their heads off (Ahhh)
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| I have never been disappointed in the substances I use
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| between those rooms locked up;
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| I write that the door is closed even if I keep banging
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| love for art deluded me.
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| Heaven rolling hell
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| without lists or consumption
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| sad consolation when your mother says
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| I could have an abortion and you agree with her.
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| A goddess turns off my light bulb
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| she leaves me in the dark in front of the void says let's play who jumps first
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| she looks me in the eye with the innocence of a child
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| that she is capable of crumpling my life she smiles and she tells me ... |