| Oh Lord I’m sick of myself
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| I’d rather bury it than carry it
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| I’m desperate for help
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| And barely sentient means just being me
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| Follow suit the destitute my modus operandi
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| A face that’s marked by pallor means you’re wasting away
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| So get a tan and raise your hands and take to feeling okay
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| No one enjoys the party when they’re stricken with anemia
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| And I’m a shallow sinking surface simply screaming septicemia
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| Peace of mind is hard to find
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| So I’m standing in line and feeling fine
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| Aye me, sad hours seem long!
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| And even longer when you’re numb
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| Fading away and that’s okay
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| Cause life has me under her thumb
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| I’m languorously open ended
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| And the endings no good
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| I’ve been told to break the mold and I would if I could
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| But apathy is easier than caring at all
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| And the undulating nothingness means having a ball
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| Incredibly impressive and bereft of concern
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| Lobotomized and optimized and then I’m ready to burn
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| And I’m at war within myself and self is winning the fight
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| Cause feeling like no one at all means feeling alright
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| Sense of purpose has got me feeling worthless
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| And I’m fading away, but that’s okay
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| Oh yeah, all right
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| I’m in a big fat cage and feeling free
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| That’s okay, that’s all right
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| Cause that’s all that’s left of me
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| Goodbye, goodnight
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| That’s all that’s left of me |