| The moon’s already high when she comes back home from work
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| She says she’s tired of trying, she often thinks of giving up
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| The dishes on the sink look like a scene from a cheap noir
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| She used to speak her mind with me, now she’s got herself a cat
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| Thirty-one's too early for anyone to feel like that
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| She looks back at the good times like they will never return
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| Staring out the window like she once stared into the road
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| Wishing it could get her out to where the brighter summers go
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| It’s a shame but she takes it in with the same damp air this city breathes
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| To buy some time, smoke some weed, go to bed and pray for sleep
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| The mirror says goodbye as she leaves late for her train
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| The wrinkles ‘round her eyes tell of nightmares and dead ends
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| Monday morning crowds resenting Friday evening drinks
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| No one looks her in the eye, they’re all walking in their sleep
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| Thirty-one and somehow it feels like everything is done
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| She looks back at the good times like they will never return
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| Staring at the TV like she once stared into the road
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| Wishing it could get her out to where the brighter summers go
|
| It’s a shame but she takes it in with the same damp air this city breathes
|
| To buy some time, smoke some weed, go to bed and pray for sleep
|
| It’s a shame but she takes it in with the same damp air this city breathes
|
| To buy some time, smoke some weed, go to bed and pray for sleep |