| Fond boy, with a flower in his heart
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| Only hours from the start
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| He’s invested all he’s got
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| So he’ll stalk the stocks
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| And stock up on Pepto-Bismol
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| 'Cause he’s giving hugs to toilets
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| And spoiling his dinner
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| Big rock, with a fire at its core
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| If it’s buried under layers
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| Then what’s it gonna warm?
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| I’m tired of knowing not
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| What’s enough and what’s a lot
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| 'Cause I only remember
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| The feelings I forgot
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| I think my anatomy’s mad at me for being so
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| Adamantly dramatic and emphatically infatuated, in fact
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| I’d rather be glad we waited until after we graduated
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| Than be packing our bags, half saturated and sadly debating it
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| Maybe it’s lazy of me to sedate our relationship
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| And date the creations I made with it, but baby
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| A baby needs something to play with and glue to
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| When you drop out halfway through peekaboo
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| You speak in resisted grins, I couldn’t sleep after leaving them
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| I didn’t eat for a week, but then again I’ve always been weak and thin
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| Honestly, I’ve lost full nights contemplating these awful rhymes
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| Those long drives felt like such short trips with you on the mind
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| I don’t think about you that much, just all the time
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| May I be meta for a minute please, pin metaphors and similes
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| Against the floor in mental scores and sorely beat them 'til they bleed?
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| Grey eyes, crowned by solar halos, follow throws of warm tornados
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| Blow away those omens made of painful days and poorly made oaths
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| And later, I’ll grow flowers in your absence, then go shower in more absinth
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| Wrap my towel 'round sore abs and then pour hours into mapping out just
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| How I’ll keep this tower from collapsing, while foundations made from
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| Sweet and sour serenades relapse and start relaxing |