| I can only imagine how this must look to you:
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| Thin as a rail, frail, pale, and moving at a snail’s pace across a crowded room.
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| Stuttering and soaked in sweat
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| I swallow all of my regrets while I bite my tongue
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| For all the things that I’ve never done or that I thought but never said
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| Some people make an art of watching life pass by
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| Not me, I watch the watchers, I’m that far behind
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| With so much time and effort growing up
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| You’d think I’d take the time to grow a spine
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| You would think I would’ve at least fucking tried
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| I can only imagine how all of this must sound:
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| Mumbled and jumbled words stumbling
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| Tumbling from my awkward, clumsy, and bumbling mouth
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| Thoughts forcing themselves out in words, composing incomplete sentences
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| There is no sense to it
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| They’re likely better left unheard
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| Some make a science out of keeping their heads down but I’ve one-up on them,
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| because mine’s buried underground
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| With so much thought put into what’s been said
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| Its likely best if I don’t make a sound
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| I’m better off fading right into the background
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| It’s not about self-doubt or deprecation
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| It’s more about knowing my limitations
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| And learning how to crawl between all my destinations
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| And learning to be patient about my frustrations |