| I open my eyes, but I still manage to dream
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| This cold bathroom floor, now just feels like home to me
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| I stumble to the mirror, and I naturally start to clean
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| But my body’s scorned with marks, that say «these aren’t the last lines that
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| I’ll see.»
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| So please cut this string, attached to my wrists
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| Buried in my shaking palm, I hold this evil in my fist
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| I relive my pain, with every scar
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| It’s a battle field of memories, that just won’t go away, for me…
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| This world has tied me down, and the knot keeps tightening
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| Cause I’m just a puppet, dangling from this breaking string
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| But maybe I’ll turn, this blade the other way
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| And roll up my sleeves to let the scars show my mistakes
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| You couldn’t make the cut, so now you’ll make this cut…
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| I can’t breath, I’m in need, where’s my crimson savior?
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| No I won’t crawl back just to bleed,
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| Forgive me, I promise i’ll stay clean |