| Take back your new yellow dress
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| the one without the blood stains that makes you feel the best,
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| but insincere and moving scared you were just waiting patiently
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| for a moment between the second you knew would be there
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| Maybe if I could have held out longer
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| I would be sharing with you my last cigarette
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| and maybe if I could have let go sooner
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| I wouldn’t be telling to you my first six regrets
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| Act out your clueless distress
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| and try not to forget the numbers scratched onto your chest
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| but in-between and out of scenes
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| you were sprinting for an epiphany
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| hoping this would all make sense
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| And maybe if I could have held out longer
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| I would be sharing with you my last cigarette
|
| and maybe if I could have let go sooner
|
| I wouldn’t be telling to you my first six regrets
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| I’m sure it felt good to you
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| to find a wound to bleed through
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| a sense of security the feel of someone to cling to
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| the fuel is fear the scenery’s not that clear
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| but as for insight it’s a nice night for a fist fight. |