| Dizzy drunk and throwing up,
|
| I finally stopped my spinning.
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| I guess I figured you’d show up
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| With all my old belongings
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| Saying «there you go my friend
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| I’m sure you’ve saved another»
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| Collapsing walls around me.
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| I need some brick and mortar.
|
| Took a swing at shortened cuts
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| Made a wrong turn somewhere.
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| Unprepared for fucking up
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| Should remind me I’m still there
|
| And I am feeling sharpened splinters
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| Cutting through my center
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| To hear you as you’re coming around again.
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| You’ve taken pages from a book
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| You couldn’t see your face in.
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| Claimed the author was a crook
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| In need of illustration.
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| And you were begging me for more.
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| Did you get what you wanted?
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| The feeling in your fingers,
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| Right back from where you started?
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| You made a map of how you loved
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| And drew a perfect circle.
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| I scribbled a Venn diagram;
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| I guess I lost my stable hand.
|
| And I am feeling long, cold winters.
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| I’m lost and can’t remember
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| The ways to keep myself as warm as then.
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| I owned your name,
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| Your body shape.
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| It sits like family;
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| A grateful offering
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| Reflected on the lake.
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| New slight of hand
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| Will trick my memory,
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| A veil on everything.
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| The paths that you could take.
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| You said you see life
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| In exploding color
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| Like the flash of stars
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| Or New England autumn.
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| I should’ve asked if you could stay.
|
| I should’ve found a way around it
|
| Because now all I see is grey
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| All trapped in memories that surround it.
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| And in your father’s summer home
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| He squared and framed the question.
|
| A collage of news print on the wall
|
| Makes me feel cut in sections.
|
| And I am shaking off my chagrin,
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| Flaking snow, and dead skin
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| That buried me in all my past mistakes.
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| I should’ve asked if you could stay. |