| Noises in my head
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| And endless should-haves rain on me
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| Like a storm, like hurricane
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| Losses piled up like wood stacks stories high
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| Feels like I’ve been framed, I have no alibi
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| Used to be that all I needed
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| Was what I didn’t possess
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| Hurting makes you who you end up as, more or less
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| Every choice I made that worked out
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| Was just a lucky guess, just a lucky guess
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| Adventures half discarded half held onto now
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| Dancing on the ledge to the edge somehow
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| Well I can still pick out the faces
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| Though I forget the names
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| In places that I’ve gone but the urge remains
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| To throw caution to the wind or is it to the stars
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| To hold out my open hands
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| To spite my empty heart
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| To wear my heart down on my sleeve
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| Just like a battle scar, these are battle scars
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| There’s comfort in a late night kitchen’s radio
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| And in a letter sent, lists of what you know
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| When you don’t know anything
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| You make another one
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| It’s good to write it down starting with the sun
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| And sometimes church bells, trees, and seasons
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| Marking times gone by
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| Sometimes starlings swell
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| Some tidal moons and filled up eyes
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| Sometimes everything at once
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| But sometimes just the sky
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| Sometimes just the sky |