| Yearbooks are like hand grenades,
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| If you don’t want to let go you wake up missing a hand
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| And they’re nostalgic at 23 for the things they barely lost
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| And the people that they happened to meet
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| Tear out the foreground and the people to the left of me
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| Look in the background for all the things you didn’t see
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| Right behind this bar I’ve got some friends you should meet
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| We reminisce till we’re fucked up and then we puke in our own sheets
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| Every time we get together it’s all shit talk and whiskey breath
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| It’s a wasted night we won’t remember
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| Maybe I’ll drink myself to death
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| Here it lies, all that remains
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| You don’t wanna let go, you end up missing in the end
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| Don’t be nostalgic at 23
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| All the things you thought you lost aren’t even close to what you wanted to be
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| Clear out the background, the people to the right of me
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| Look in the playground for all the things you didn’t see
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| You’re full of shit, got some friends you should meet
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| We reminisce till we’re fucked up and then we puke it on our sheets
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| When it lies, we stay the same
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| For the people that we lost and the people that we happen to meet
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| There it lies, and there it stays
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| And you’re a mess and I’m the same.
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| And if I have to be fucked up to put up with your bullshit, open up wide
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| I guess I better open up wide |