| …goodbye!
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| Oh I loved her so dear
|
| And her love I did not fear
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| I thought it would always last
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| But now it’s in the past…
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| I have wasted my limbs and my throat, the sweat of my brow, and the esteem of
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| my peers. |
| I have written all these words only to disappoint myself
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| No matter how carefully crafted it may be, my lifeline could be nothing but
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| these frequencies that fight off my fears. |
| I’ve tried to pull meaning from
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| anyone’s suffering, instead I’m coming to terms with feeling so sad, small,
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| and scared
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| By now, it’s been done to death. |
| Overblown and picked apart. |
| What’s left I only
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| have to guess
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| No more feelings, no more songs. |
| The best has come and gone
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| It still hurts, but I cannot stop serenading the void. |
| It’s the only thing I
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| can do to feel like I’ve left a mark. |
| It’s living life under a shadow—the
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| visceral but fleeting ghosts of youth and its imminent decline
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| I still long for art not born of suffering. |
| How long will I sing the music of
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| my wounds?
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| There’s no more room to grow. |
| Don’t weep for what I have become.
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| I swear I’m better off. |
| I swear! |