| She wakes up at at 7:30 sharp
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| To the sound of an alarm
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| Playing a harsh noise in lieu of a bell
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| Sits up in her bed and tries to reexamine
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| Her life choices and the voice in her head
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| Looks out the second story window that’s still cracked from the night before
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| A freezing wind blows under her shirt again
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| And it’s probably not the first time and probably not the last
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| Blood-soaked sheets in a bath of red wine
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| Isn’t it funny how our half-dead bodies intertwine?
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| She said, «Would it kill you to take your socks off at night?»
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| So she looks in the mirror for the third time this month
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| Into feeling safe and unsure in her skin
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| Despite constant encouragement from her family and her friends
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| She has kind of stopped breathing again
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| Isn’t it funny how our half-dead bodies intertwine?
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| She said, «I miss when you made me feel nice.»
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| So I sit up in my bed and try to reexamine
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| My life choices and the voice in my head
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| It is not about me
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| What can I do to make you see
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| I am lucky just to know you’re alive?
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| Before you leave, make sure the door’s locked twice |