| What’s the point of ever opening our goddamn mouths
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| When what falls out is drunken disorder?
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| It’s arched backs. |
| It’s bad habits. |
| It’s just a Slippery Slope.
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| It’s false hope and a warm body for less lonely slumber.
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| A left turn at Best Intentions.
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| So what’s right when everything I’ve always known is wrong?
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| I wake up and wonder.
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| When you left it was me left leaning to what’s right.
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| When everything I’ve always known is wrong we still wake up and wander on.
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| All month long, we wake up and wander on.
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| All month long.
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| A farewell toast with our remaining cigarette,
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| As we’ve drawn through our skin on a slow ride of cowboy killers and fixer.
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| It’s where we began and the most we’ll become over time.
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| So it’s a left turn at Best Intentions.
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| Am I right if everyone you’ve always known is wrong?
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| I wake up and wonder.
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| When I left, it was you left leaning to my right,
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| As everyone you’ve always known was wrong.
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| But still, we wake up and wander on.
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| All month long, we wake up and wander on.
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| All month long.
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| We’ve drawn through our skin on a timeline.
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| Frame the shot for the fixer.
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| Here’s to where we began and the most we’d become over time.
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| All month long, we wake up and wander on.
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| All month long. |