| I give blood to prove to myself
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| That I can matter to somebody else
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| Is what makes a man the dirt on his hands?
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| Don’t put your faith in the desert sand
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| The wind is always blowing
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| There are gallows deep inside my lungs
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| That’s where I hung ambition
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| Is it luck that’s knocking right on my back door?
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| Because I’ve been breaking mirrors since 1984
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| I walk under ladders, I spill salt on sores
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| And I open my umbrella even when I am indoors
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| So give me seven more
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| I give blood not for the cause
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| But to slowly give up the person I was
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| Holding my breath won’t help
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| Everything went to hell
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| So now I steal back pennies from the well
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| Because my wishes failed
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| I am screaming at my own shadow
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| To stop living like a ghost
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| I don’t need her; |
| I’m not that desperate
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| Come visit me in twenty years and maybe then
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| Cause I’m not done screaming yet
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| You can call off the intervention
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| Cause I don’t need your attention
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| I don’t need her; |
| I’m not that desperate
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| I don’t need her; |
| I’m not that desperate |