| And it begins
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| I toss and turn
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| But things could be much worse
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| Hurry up and wait
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| This convoluted state, induced by you
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| And the loaded things we say
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| Whoaaa, whoaaaa, whoaaaaaaaaaaa (x2)
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| You’re gonna miss, gonna miss, gonna miss me someday (x2)
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| The siren sings to pull you in
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| As things are wearing thin
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| The time it takes
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| Before you break
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| Let me introduce myself
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| My name is fate
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| Whoaaa, whoaaaawhoaaaaaaaaaaa (x2)
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| You’re gonna miss, gonna miss, gonna miss me someday (x2)
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| You’ve gotta take your time with things like these
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| All that you want is someone to ask for apologies
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| For things that don’t exist
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| They just don’t make sense
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| So much pretense
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| April 5th
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| I arise with chapped lips
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| And the babbling of nonsense over the TV’s dull hiss
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| The events of April 4th align just a little more
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| Than the infatuated roar of the kids across the street
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| Though they speak not to me
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| They go deeper than my worry
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| With a friend of a friend who at a bar last night told me that they loved me
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| But it must’ve been the Bacardi
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| That had her hanging off me, and saying things she’d do to me
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| Why do these still haunt me!!! |