| I’m counting out dollars while I limp to your brownstone
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| I can just barely cover what I need to get back home
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| I know we’re allowed indiscretions in our lives
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| But I’ve been making mine count every night for a while
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| I keep deleting your number and name from my cell phone
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| But I call every day; |
| that’s as far as my act goes
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| What you have helps me turn down the noise that I make
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| But when it stops it just pokes me and keeps me awake
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| My friends always warned about living clichés
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| But my friends aren’t there when I meet you these days
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| I count people and street signs from the back of your car
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| And then skip back excited to wherever they are
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| I take risks in the stall while they talk by the bar
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| I won’t go back outside 'til my memory starts
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| Erasing itself into something less brutal
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| Some beautiful bullshit I pretend to belong to
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| So, as long as the truth tucks itself into bed
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| And the beat of my heart and the heat of my breath
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| Keep me hopeful and distant and proud of myself
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| I’ll keep ringing your bell every night around twelve |