| The truth is I hate my own guts so you won’t have to
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| So much so, that I can’t recognize love or the lack of it
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| I’ve packed this suitcase a thousand times
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| Said aloud «I'll never look back»
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| But end up sitting on my bed just staring at it
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| I’ve cried alone more times than I’d like to admit
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| But I’ve been too proud to tell you
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| I’m losing it
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| Anxiety ridden guilt stricken
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| The weights of things
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| It’s sinking in
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| It’s like an awful movie I’ve seen a hundred times and I know the end
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| And everything falls apart
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| But I’m collecting the pieces
|
| And everything falls apart
|
| But I’m collecting the pieces
|
| And everything falls apart
|
| But I’m collecting the pieces
|
| And everything falls apart
|
| But I’m collecting the pieces
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| I found a little bit of hope shoved between the seats In the back of the van
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| And I’m content with knowing exactly where I am
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| I’ve seen hell It’s a worn out reclining chair
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| And I’ve dreamt of heaven
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| It’s anywhere but here
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| Anxiety ridden guilt stricken
|
| The weights of things
|
| It’s sinking in
|
| It’s like an awful movie I’ve seen a hundred times and I know the end
|
| And everything falls apart
|
| But I’m collecting the pieces
|
| And everything falls apart
|
| But I’m collecting the pieces
|
| Anxiety ridden guilt stricken
|
| The weights of things
|
| It’s sinking in
|
| It’s like an awful movie I’ve seen a hundred times and I know the end
|
| And everything falls apart
|
| But I’m collecting the pieces
|
| And everything falls apart
|
| But I’m collecting the pieces |