| Tending to the sores that stay
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| Happiness is just a gash away
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| When i open a familiar scar
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| Pain goes shooting like a star
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| Comfort hasn’t failed to follow so far…
|
| And you might say it’s self-indulgent
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| You might say its self-destructive
|
| But, you see, it’s more productive
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| Than if i were to be healthy
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| &pens and penknives take the blame
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| Crane my neck &scratch my name
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| But the ugly marks
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| Are worth the momentary gain…
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| When i jab a sharpened object in
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| Choirs of angels seem to sing
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| Hymns of hate in memorandum
|
| And you might say it’s self-indulgent
|
| And you might say it’s self-destructive
|
| But, you see, it’s more productive
|
| Than if i were to be happy
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| And sappy songs about sex and cheating
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| Bland accounts of two lovers meeting
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| Make me want to give mankind a beating
|
| And you might say it’s self-destructive
|
| But, you see, i’d kick the bucket
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| Sixty times before i’d kick the habit
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| And as the skin rips off i cherish the revolting thought
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| That even if i quit
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| There’s not a chance in hell i’d stop
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| And anyone can see the signs
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| Mittens in the summertime
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| Thank you for your pity, you are too kind
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| And you might say its self-inflicted
|
| But you see that’s contradictive
|
| Why on earth would anyone practice self destruction?
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| And pain opinions are sitcom feeding
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| They dont know that their minds are teething
|
| Makes me want to give mankind a beating
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| I’m tried bandages and sinking
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| I’ve tried gloves and even thinking
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| I’ve tried vaseline
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| I’ve tried everything
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| And no-one cares if your back is bleeding
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| They’re concerned with their hair receding
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| Looking back it was all maltreating
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| Every thought that occurred misleading
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| Makes me want to give myself a beating… |