| When you sleep, we are in your head
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| Picking memories from the places you regret
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| Anthems cursed, so when we’re dead
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| Follow the certain songs that take her place instead
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| Certain songs are cursed
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| Certain songs are cursed
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| It should break your heart
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| He still dances with you sometimes
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| Still throws his arms around you when
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| Certain songs are playing
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| How you try to play along
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| But your steps are wrong
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| And all your friends took up and sat and conversed
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| While you just blushed and felt the worst
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| Certain songs are cursed
|
| Certain songs are cursed
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| Certain songs are cursed, they hang out uninvited in your head. |
| It’s nothing to
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| do with conscience, thinking you. |
| There’s who you want slash try to be,
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| and there’s who you really are. |
| To be able to quell those emotions with the
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| briefest of facial tics, and no one around you needs to ever know that.
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| Out of all the Postal Service and Notwist and albums you listened to that
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| summer, double Bright Eyes albums, whole B-side compilations, repeated
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| playlists of «Goodbye Sky Harbor», you had your worst ever heartbreak to
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| fucking «Run» by fucking Snow Patrol |