| I’ve seen you walk this way
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| For the past ten years and never got the chance to ask you, I’m calling out
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| And each and every day
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| I’m reminded you’re the fucking disease
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| I’m always full, of good intentions
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| But bad with first impressions
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| The crying out is deafening, and it’s starting to get to me
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| Every time I run
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| Every time I stumble
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| Not wonder
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| If I had defined the fire inside
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| Only to find out I’m not worth saving
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| I know it hurts
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| And those ten years haunts the hell inside my head
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| And when I try to find the peace inside and write it all down the words are the
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| fucking same
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| I’m always full of what I thought was something good
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| But my first impressions lasted longer than any sickness ever should
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| Every time I run
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| Every time I stumble
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| Not wonder
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| If I had defined the fire inside
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| Only to find out I’m not worth saving
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| Every time I stumble, I wonder
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| If I had defined the fire inside
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| Dead or alive, I’m my own worst critic
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| Call me a coward
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| Call me ignorant
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| A piece of shit as if I’d somehow forgotten
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| Give it a shot, my heart said softly
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| Or Push it away and leave it behind me |