| Found these old letters from years ago
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| Felt it was fitting to continue that correspondence
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| Can’t help I’m sentimental
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| Thanks for talking with me today, I hope this is helpful for you
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| I also hope that Birdie is happy and healthy and staying out of trouble to a
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| reasonable extent
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| What I wrote was sort of my way of finally being able to address how it feels
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| to have
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| Another brick-red room, another black-top town
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| Another misspelled band burning their own houses down
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| Another pine-box tune to fill the cemetery day
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| Another star, a touch of orange over purgatory gray
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| Another thorny field to scatter fruitless seed
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| Another song that runs too long, God knows no one needs
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| More misguided ghosts, more transparent hands
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| To drop a nickel in our basket and we’ll do our riot! |
| dance
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| Beneath another burning sky, behind our painted lips
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| In scores of catatonic smile-covered ankle-bitten ships
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| So throw your pedestal of stone in the forgetful sea
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| As protection from the paper-thin perfection you project on me
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| When this repetition ends behind the window shades
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| A semi-conscious sorrow sleeping in the bed I’ve made
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| That most unrestful bed, that most original of sins
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| And you’ll say that’s what I get when I let ambitions win again
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| I’d hate to let you down so I’ll let the waters rise
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| And drown my dull reflection in the naive expectation in your eyes
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| Back in a cast bit-part, back when I felt most free
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| I had a butcher’s heart and no one thought they knew me
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| So before the regiment resumes, before the dreaded sun appears
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| My driver’s waiting, so let’s make one point crystal clear:
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| You see a flood-lit form, I see a shirt design
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| I’m no savior of yours and you’re no friend of mine
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| You’re no friend of mine
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| You’re no friend of mine
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| I’m no savior of yours and you’re no friend of mine
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| You see a flood-lit form
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| I see a shirt design
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| I’m no savior of yours and you’re no friend of mine
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| I see myself in the reflection of people’s eyes
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| Realising that what they see may not even be close to the image I see in myself
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| And I think I might actually be more afraid to let my own self down than
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| anything else
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| I feel like the man in the story
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| Who saw a bear floating in the river and thought it was a fur coat
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| Twelve years ago I stood on the shore
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| And jumped in and grabbed the coat
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| The river was rushing toward a waterfall
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| And, and my friend stood at the shore and shouted to let go of the coat and
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| swim back to land
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| I let go of the coat but the coat won’t let go of me
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| In any case please let me know if there’s more I can give you
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| If nothing comes of it, then just know we are grateful |