| It’s a thin and pale morning
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| In a tangle of sheets
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| Waking to an air of disease
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| I’m being forced to find a reason
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| But with the secrets you keep
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| Truth is as best bittersweet
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| Well you never were one for ties, still
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| You’ll have to draw the line at someone
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| Wind like a knife and it turns from time to time, yeah
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| I don’t expect you’re so familiar
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| How it feels with the wolves at your heels
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| Chasing you through my head
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| It’s a game I’ve tried to forget
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| I tried to forget
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| It’s a thin pale morning
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| With an hour of sleep
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| Making maybe three for the week
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| And when I’m claiming pride and reason
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| Then it crawls to your feet
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| Truth and bittersweet
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| you know I never romanticise, so
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| Now I have to draw a line at someone
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| Wind like a knife that you turn to keep the time, so
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| I don’t expect you’re so the tempo
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| How it feels as the wolves take skin from your heels
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| Placing crowns on your head, it’s a game of what you felt then
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| How it feels with the wolves your heels
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| Chasing you through my head
|
| It’s a game I’ve tried to forget
|
| I tried to forget
|
| I tried to forget
|
| I tried to forget |