| It’s that quiet kind of failure
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| It’s a trickle down the drain
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| It’s your confidence that’s slipping
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| And it’s driving you insane
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| Wishing for some leverage
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| Than of making an appeal
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| For a little more insisting
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| I bet that’s how most people feel
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| Have you woken to a field of snow?
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| It’s a slow-motion disaster
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| But it’s nothing you can hear
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| It robbed you of your sightline
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| And it only brought you tears
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| Said a man my father’s age
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| He was lucky to be there
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| At the end of working days
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| So our troubles weren’t his cares
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| Have you woken to a field of snow?
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| Looking up into a colder blue
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| It’s that quiet kind of failure
|
| But it’s nothing you can hear
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| When you say that you’re on empty
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| I know that it’s sincere
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| There’s a sign outside your house now
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| Though you’ve been here all these years
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| They come to change your locks out
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| But you’ve been here all these years
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| You’ve been here all these years
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| You’ve been here all these years
|
| Been here all these years
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| Been here all these years
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| I see the difference now
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| Looking up into a colder blue
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| I see the difference now
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| Like I’ve woken to a field of snow |