| Standing on a bus stop
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| Feeling your head pop
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| Out in the night
|
| On the kind of night
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| Where you want to be out
|
| On the street, on the street
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| Crawling up the walls
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| Like a cat in heat
|
| And the air is thin
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| And it blows through your skin
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| And you feel like something
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| Is about to begin
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| But you don’t know what
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| And you don’t know when
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| So you tear at your hair
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| And you scratch at your skin
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| You wanna run away, run away
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| Just get on the fucking train and leave today
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| And it doesn’t matter where you spend the night
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| You just might end up somewhere in a fight, in a fight
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| Or caught in your room on a concrete shelf
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| Fighting all alone, with yourself, with yourself
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| And you just wanna feel like a coin that’s been tossed
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| In a wishing well, a wishing well
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| A wishing well, a wishing well
|
| Well, you’re tossed in the air
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| And you fell and you fell
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| Through the dark blue waters
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| Where you cast your spell
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| Like you were just a wish that could turn out well
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| So you stand on the corner
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| Where the angels sit
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| And you think to yourself,
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| «This is it, this is it,
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| This is all that I have
|
| All I can stand
|
| Is this air in my lungs
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| And this coin in my hand
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| That you tossed in the air
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| And I fell, and I fell
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| All the way to the bottom
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| Of the well, of the well
|
| Like those soft little secrets
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| That you tell, that you tell
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| To yourself, when you think
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| No one’s listening to, well»
|
| And the walls spin
|
| And you’re paper-thin
|
| From the haze of the smoke
|
| And the mescaline
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| The threat of your brow
|
| Under unmade sheets
|
| In your ear with the noise
|
| From the darkest streets
|
| We ran far and wide
|
| You screamed, you cried
|
| You thought suicide was an alibi
|
| But you were always a mess
|
| You were always aloof
|
| Yeah, it’s awful, I guess
|
| But it’s the awful truth
|
| It was truth from the first
|
| To the last words that she read
|
| And she emerged from the dark
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| Like a ghost in my head
|
| She said, «I haven’t forgot
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| Any words that you said
|
| I just stare at the clocks
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| And I cry in my sleep
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| And I tear up your letters
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| And I burn them in heaps
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| And I gather the ashes
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| In that hole in the ground
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| Where we fell |