| Take those times in your car when you’d be dressed to kill on the way to see
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| the stars held in your palm but never let out for me to view and replace them
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| with that night out on your porch. |
| This time I’m dressed to kill and we’re
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| killing time wishing it was each other.
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| And if I had a dime for every time I felt less potent then a piece of dust
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| collecting on my picture which lies face down (Set your ice on this road.
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| Turn your headlights ablast.
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| Let’s make my first accident my last.) on desolate shelf in your room,
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| I’d be rich and wishing that you won’t be home soon.
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| Move to the other coast 3, 000 miles away and then I’ll sing so you know I’m
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| making my way across these purple moutain majesties, torch in hand ready to
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| burn these amber waves of distain.
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| Still hung over from the present and the past.
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| Intoxication never lasts.
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| All good things in life come to an end.
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| And those experiences worth reliving are now eyes wide shut. |
| They’re eyes wide
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| shut.
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| It silently screams to me, this unanswered question;
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| Was it fact or was it fiction?
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| Was it fiction? |