| I asked you how he’s doing the day before he died
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| You said «he's doing fine, we’re all just doing fine»
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| About a week ago I watched his body lowered down
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| Now no one’s doing fine and I am less and less around
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| I’m sick to death and scared that I might actually be the culprit
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| I didn’t spend much time with him and no one seemed to notice
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| His lust for life was squandered when he lost his loving friends;
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| believe he actually was a corpse before his life had ended
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| The final letter seemed despondent as if he wasn’t there,
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| One more summer and you could have been amongst the world you feared
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| You were happy
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| Don’t understand how it could all be fake,
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| Your smile glowing but your eyes reflected shame
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| Sorrowful and somber-filled, your family didn’t help
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| Your sister was the one with issues that they had to deal with now
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| Now life is but a memory and death is in full swing
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| Your skin that held together bone is promptly decaying
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| Family gathered round to see an issue unresolved
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| Why couldn’t you have told a friend that might’ve helped it all?
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| «Identify the body» the father pleaded so
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| All that laid was flesh no longer occupied a soul
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| Delicate and calm the father witnessed his son’s fate
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| The bullet hole that entered had an exit just the same
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| I’ve been wrapping these tragedies in plastic and throwing them away,
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| Amidst the trash that I inhabit
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| It’s madness
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| it’s tragic
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| I’m clogging up my feelings with this sickness that is sadness
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| I asked you how he’s doing the day before he died,
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| You said «he's doing fine we’re all just doing fine» |