| Is something missing in my touch
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| A tension tugging at my smile?
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| If there’s a right thing to say
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| I’m sure I missed it by a mile
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| Swallowed in some detail, heavy in my blood
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| I want to hold you close but I can’t lift my arms up
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| Is there a reason for this distance?
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| More than the drug that floats my days
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| A nervous bug in my system
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| It keeps me edgy and ashamed
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| I’ve got a saint, never ever will forgive
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| That never understood me but still tells me how to live
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| It fits when I stretch
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| And I stretch because I can
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| I stretch until I’m sore
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| And then I open up for more
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| I do it out of habit, not addiction
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| And if I give it up, clean out my blood
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| Will I still feel bored and disconnected?
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| If I do it all for love, will I ever give enough?
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| ‘Cause you can never be too pure or too connected
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| You can never be too pure or too connected
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| You can never be too pure |