| My old addiction
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| Changed the wiring in my brain
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| So that when it turns the switches
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| Then I am not the same
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| So like the flowers toward the Sun
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| I will follow
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| Stretch myself out thin
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| Like there’s a part of me that’s already buried
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| That sends me out into this wind
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| My old addiction
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| Is a flood upon the land
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| This tiny lifeboat can keep me dry
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| But my weight is all that it can stand
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| So when I try to lean just a little
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| For just a splash to cool my face
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| Ahh that trickle turns out fickle
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| Fills my boat up five miles deep
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| My old addiction
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| Makes me crave only what is best
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| Like these just this morning song birds
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| Craving upward from the nest
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| These tiny birds outside my window
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| Take my hand to be their mom
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| These open mouths would trust and swallow
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| Anything that came along
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| Like my old addiction
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| Now the other side of Day
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| As the springtime of my lifestyle
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| Turns the other way
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| If a swan can have a song
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| I think I know that tune
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| But the page is only scrawled
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| And I am gone this afternoon
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| But the page is only scrawled
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| And I am gone this afternoon |