| Well, I smoked my throat out last night
|
| Hoping you’d call or just stop by
|
| Now I’m wheezing like the Oakland sky
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| Feeling like the rusted tracks and forgotten dreams of the old train lines
|
| It’s a perpetual stone in my shoe
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| One that I’ll always be trying to shake loose
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| An ache in my chest and a thorn in my side
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| More than a scratch beneath the skin
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| Somewhere between the beginning and the end
|
| I don’t feel a lot lately
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| I don’t feel whole lately
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| I don’t feel much lately
|
| But that’s how I hide, that’s how I hide
|
| Yeah, yeah, yeah, oh
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| You wrote it down not to draw attention to yourself
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| You lit the pilot just to blow it out
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| Here the conversation’s always too loud
|
| And we’re as pathetic as the jumper who listens to the crowd
|
| To say I miss you wouldn’t be enough
|
| I feel like tom waits singing «Diamonds And Rust»
|
| And I’m as pathetic as a junkie who know what he does
|
| It’s a perpetual stone in my shoe
|
| One that I’ll always be trying to shake loose
|
| An ache in my chest and a thorn in my pride
|
| More than a scratch beneath the skin
|
| Somewhere between the beginning and the end
|
| I don’t feel a lot lately
|
| I don’t feel whole lately
|
| I don’t feel much lately
|
| But that’s how hide, that’s how I hide
|
| Yeah, yeah, yeah, oh
|
| Yeah, yeah, yeah, oh |