| I’m alone, in this crowded room
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| The blood on my hands and what’s spilled on my shoes
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| And the strangers passing by
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| With their stolen glances from hazy eyes
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| And I know we’ll both be gone by this time next year
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| (Stop running from it, you’re just running from it)
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| Another version of me moved up north of here
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| (You're just running from it)
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| I’m nineteen almost twenty and forgotten how it feels to be me
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| Most nights I’m too fucked up to even reach the kitchen sink
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| So I’m pouring it out on the page like my stomach down the drain
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| And if you ever hear this song just know I’m always out here standing
|
| In the rain
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| Too many thoughts to put into words
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| So sink the truth right where it hurts
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| I’m not my mother’s son cause I drink too much
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| And I could never be enough
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| And I know that somewhere deep down you’re proud of me
|
| (But from birth I’ve fought this urge to just fade away)
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| Between the bottom of a bottle and a balcony
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| (Spare me your sympathy)
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| I’m nineteen almost twenty and forgotten how it feels to be me
|
| Most nights I’m too fucked up to even reach the kitchen sink
|
| So I’m pouring it out on the page like my stomach down the drain
|
| And if you ever hear this song just know I’m always out here standing
|
| In the rain
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| Caught up with leaving you, I ache when I wake in the afternoon
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| An apathetic sense of freedom, bottomed out and lost for meaning
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| Ten stories up, the silence cuts, and all my blood runs thicker
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| Put the bottle to my head
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| I was the loading the gun you were pulling the trigger
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| Caught up with leaving you, I ache when I wake in the afternoon
|
| An apathetic sense of freedom, bottomed out and lost for meaning
|
| I’m nineteen almost twenty and forgotten how it feels to be me
|
| Most nights I’m too fucked up to even reach the kitchen sink
|
| So I’m pouring it out on the page like my stomach down the drain
|
| And if you ever hear this song just know I’ll always be out standing
|
| In the rain |