| You’re not too small for this
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| But you’re not even trying
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| I know you’re taking everything way farther than you’ve known
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| I know what’s taking all this space
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| I know I know
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| We were younger then
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| But I can still read the words across your chest
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| Pouring from your mouth
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| And ran like rivers down your neck
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| And spilled on to the floor
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| But I’m not so sure I can remember that anymore
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| I can’t read the books your father read
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| But I will write you songs instead
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| To make up for what they have been saying
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| Because I know you don’t need that
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| I know you don’t need that
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| We were smaller then
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| But I don’t have the blood in your skin
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| So I don’t fit I don’t fit in
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| And when I leave your house
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| I know you’ll call to chase them out
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| But they’ll stay down the hall
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| So when you sleep it’s not for long
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| I can’t feel the way your parents did
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| But I can make him take back what he’s said to you
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| To make up for when you have been staying at home
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| When we’ve been leaving
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| Because I’d rather you’d come with me
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| Buried under ground and you’re scratching inside out
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| And breathing in until you can’t keep pushing out |