| I feel content enough to
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| Pace back and forth, around, in any room
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| To stagger my feet from moving forward towards anywhere at all
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| Delaying the truth
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| Dragging my days across the floor
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| I’ve lost that, which defines me and I can’t be found
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| You shutter at the thought of who I am when you’re not around
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| The future’s left behind me, now I can’t back down
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| You shutter at the thought of who I am when you’re not around
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| We’ve grown contemptuous, it’s true
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| Running down the fleeting hours form separate rooms
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| Sitting with myself inside a coffee shop, the seventh day this week
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| But I’ll be home soon
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| Dragging both my feet in through the door
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| I’ve lost that, which defines me and I can’t be found
|
| You shutter at the thought of who I am when you’re not around
|
| The future’s left behind me, now I can’t back down
|
| You shutter at the thought of who I am when you’re not around
|
| I feel content enough to
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| Counting down, the ticking clock
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| The talking stops, the silence doesn’t ceases
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| I’ve lost that, which defines me and I can’t be found
|
| You shutter at the thought of who I am when you’re not around
|
| The future’s left behind me, now I can’t back down
|
| You shutter at the thought of who I am when you’re not around
|
| The future’s left behind me, now I can’t back down
|
| You shutter at the thought of who I am when you’re not around |