| Hey Dave, what’s more cliche than pain?
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| When was the last time that you had something original to say?
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| Wouldn’t you say it’s getting old?
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| Isn’t it time you let things go?
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| Don’t you feel you owe it to yourself to take some steps to stop restricting
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| growth?
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| Don’t you remember hope?
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| I only remember it well
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| I guess that’s why I dwell in the past
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| Or at least the last time I was kind to myself
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| I retreat to memory, reliving histories in my head
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| Because it’s all that comforts me in stagnancy
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| (Reminds me of a time this was worth it.)
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| Hey Dave, isn’t it about time you finally grew that fucking spine?
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| (Or an even line?)
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| Doesn’t it only make things worse
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| Writing your agonies down in verse?
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| Shouldn’t you destroy all those notes and rants before they all destroy you
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| first?
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| Hasn’t it become a curse?
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| No, I still cling to notes
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| The raving rants I wrote are kept close
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| They’re archived and filed, or memorized in hopes
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| That they may leave a trail which, backwards, leads to where things went wrong
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| And the instructions to repair the pride I broke
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| (Cause lord knows, they’ve got to be good for something)
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| And so I’ve cataloged each moment and placed them within a timeline
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| Composed of thoughts, regrets, and stories that I keep stored within my mind
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| And I know they may not mean much within the scope and scale of life
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| Although, for now, they’re all I have, and dammit they’re all mine
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| Hey Dave
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| (When was the last time that you had something original to say?) |