| The hands I’ve been trying to hold
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| This is to the (uh-uh) love that I lost
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| And all the troubling thoughts of how I got double-crossed
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| And this is to the (uh-uh) divorce I was forced to settle with
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| And the remorse I fought off with metal fists
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| And this is to the (uh-uh) wet, watery kiss I left you with
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| On your porch as I watched your trembling lips
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| This is to the… memory of our early years
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| The first girl I shared feelings with
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| And it’s the realest thing I’d experienced in my short existence
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| And I ain’t afraid to admit
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| Cause love is one of the things that doesnt come with an age limit
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| Now does it? |
| In fact I’mma have to say I’m more keen to feel such things
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| Hopeless things I’d lost in a smokescreen of meaningless fucking
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| Touching without touching, candles in the dark
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| Casting shadows on our parents battles, this is for the romantics at heart
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| It wasn’t too long before I held you more then my pen
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| When I wasn’t writing songs, it was something like
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| «Forever and always, whenever those songs play…»
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| I remember empty hallways
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| Or your image that descended from the top floor became an echo
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| I paid the price for those hard things, and couldn’t afford to let go
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| From a passive debt, I’m past regret
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| Did you know I dreamt about you before we met?
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| Remembering our first kiss, and it hadn’t even happened yet
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| Recollecting your scent, and I wasn’t even given the chance to forget
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| I guess that’s the magic of it
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| Now every rehashed subject’s displaying what I wrote
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| On cafe napkins to the public
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| To get it over and done with, closure hath cometh
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| My shoulders are plummeted from holding these buckets
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| Hold your laughs till I go back to the tunnels of Paris
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| Where I wrote half of these paragraphs… but fuck it
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| This is to my ten year story, in another decade
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| You better be better prepared for me
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| In the first four years, you were all ears
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| Then for the next six, you left me for the next exit
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| With depth to my message
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| So that began my affair with the world abroad
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| Behind the curtain with the other hurtful girls I explored
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| Until I became the monster, turning to the words that I record
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| Pardon me, if you heard it all before
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| «I didn’t shake you to hurt you»
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| When you landed on the floor
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| In a room of naked virtues
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| I closed my eyes to cancel what I saw
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| Your hand made the first move to the handle of the drawer
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| Where the frail girl couldn’t think to live
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| «I didn’t shake you to hurt you»
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| I never planned it before
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| I can’t shake off your perfume, can’t wash my hands no more
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| And I’m breaking my curfew, but I can’t walk
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| I’m standing at the door, I hear the wailing of a little kid
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| …and the failure of innocence
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| His compromise eyeing the side of the kitchen sink
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| What’you think, I just let you cut you, cut me-- cut the bullshit
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| Damn, I love the hugs enough to tolerate
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| The way we made each other crazy, making it so tough to operate
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| Productively, my self esteem didn’t help when I felt ugly
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| And I figured that’s the reason why you wouldn’t touch me
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| My ego does bleed, I shouldn’t have let you test it
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| And let your arms free to follow up with your domestic slip up
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| Love is a battlefield so lick your shots quick
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| While I lick my wounds and then resume as an obvious target
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| Infatuations with the past protect my Purple Heart with
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| A faded picture I had in my shirt pocket
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| I’m going out with a bang.
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| In a blaze of glory holes, the anti-hero
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| I don’t care how many ways the story’s told
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| Be careful when these doolies play like drums
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| And watch what you foolishly say because my uzi weighs a ton
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| This is to the sleepless evenings that I spent next to grave stones
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| Hoping someone from beyond would grab my arm and take me home
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| I hadn’t accepted I’d have to make it alone
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| After feeding everything I had into a payphone
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| And this is to the rain.
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| I felt like it was made of spit
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| My parade was an unbreakable chain of Gabe’s trumpets
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| Save the buckets even though they weighed down my walking
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| You don’t know the height of the steak you place your fork in
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| You look old (that's what you said)
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| I feel old (that's what I said)
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| I been through a lot since you been gone, dead, born again |
| Torn to shreads over girls who were porcelain
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| The cry-baby dolls, when we were allowed to talk again
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| I stopped accepting break-up calls (that ring true)
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| I hate the way I fall for everything you do
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| Our fate is flawed, that’s why I make these break-up songs to sing to you
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| Music is my only psychiatric drug
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| And you’re a pill in human form I’d like to hide under my tongue
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| Kiss the foot that couldn’t fit into the slipper of my mouth
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| The denizen in your house begging for the benefit of your doubts
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| When I got kicked out, I played the faithful puppy dog
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| Loyal to the love alost, sitting at your fucking door in utter disbelief
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| I sucked all of the skin off of my teeth
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| You pulled away, you let me choke on your invisible leash
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| You can find me hiding these screams behind my eyelids
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| She blinded me (she blinded me) with silence.
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| So my air-mail lips blew her a fairwell kiss
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| Slinking over the sink, where all the hair gel drips
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| Stairwells dip deep into her mouth where I found a cycle
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| And ever since then, I’ve been on a downward spiral
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| This round is final, it’s time to recover
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| Because it’s a porch that some dogs choose to die under
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| The first song was a breakdown, I apologize in round two
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| This version I’m certain, this shit ain’t even about you
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| It’s the threewrite. |