| So here I am once more in the playground of the broken hearts
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| One more experience, one more entry in a diary, self-penned
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| Yet another emotional suicide overdosed on sentiment and pride
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| Too late to say I love you, too late to re-stage the play
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| Abandoning the relics in my playground of yesterday
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| I’m losing on the swings, I’m losing on the roundabouts
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| I’m losing on the swings, I’m losing on the roundabouts
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| Too much, too soon, too far to go, too late to play, the game is over
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| The game is over
|
| So here I am once more in the playground of the broken heart
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| I’m losing on the swings, losing on the roundabouts, the game is over, over
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| Yet another emotional suicide overdosed on sentiment and pride
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| I’m losing on the swings, losing on the roundabouts, the game is over
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| Too late to say I love you, too late to re-stage the play
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| The game is over
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| I act the role in classic style of a martyr carved with twisted smile
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| To bleed the lyric for this song to write the rites to right my wrongs
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| An epitaph to a broken dream to exorcise this silent scream
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| A scream that’s borne from sorrow
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| I never did write that love song, the words just never seemed to flow
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| Now sad in reflection did I gaze through perfection
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| And examine the shadows on the other side of the morning
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| And examine the shadows on the other side of mourning
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| Promised wedding now a wake
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| The fool escaped from paradise will look over his shoulder and cry
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| Sit and chew on daffodils and struggle to answer why?
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| As you grow up and leave the playground
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| Where you kissed your prince and found your frog
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| Remember the jester that showed you tears, the script for tears
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| So I’ll hold our peace forever when you wear your bridal gown
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| In the silence of my shame the mute that sang the sirens' song
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| Has gone solo in the game, I’ve gone solo in the game
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| But the game is over
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| Can you still say you love me |