| There’s no stone to lay the flowers down beside
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| No mention in the paper, though something clearly died
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| No gathering for family and friends to eulogize
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| It’s a death without a funeral
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| There’s no book to sign for people filing in
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| No table full of pictures, where they’d say «Remember when»
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| No song is sung about how all good things come to an end
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| It’s a death without a funeral
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| When you see me, I’m still breathing
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| Though a million things have died inside of me
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| But there’s no healing without grieving
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| No wonder why it’s hard to rest in peace
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| When there’s nothing we can bury in the dirt
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| No place to lay the memory of all the things that were
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| No way to feel the closure, no ending to the hurt
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| It’s a death without a funeral
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| When you see me, I’m still breathing
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| Though a million things have died inside of me
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| But there’s no healing without grieving
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| No wonder why it’s hard to rest in peace
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| One apple hadn’t fallen with the leaves
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| As I reached up I remembered how we both planted that tree
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| With one bite I was surprised to find the fruit was still so sweet |