| I haven’t felt this low in a long time
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| I haven’t seen sunlight for 5 day
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| And now the inside of my mouth is a mess
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| Just like the inside of my head
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| I know I shouldn’t have dropped by tonight
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| But I just didn’t know who else I could talk to
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| And December never seems to listen
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| When I kindly ask for it to leave
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| All of this uncertainty and these unfinished bus rides
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| Are breaking me like you wouldn’t believe
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| So I just sit here grinding my teeth
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| And think about that beautiful smile that’s stuck in my head, I know she
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| doesn’t exist
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| All she ever seems to want to do is talk to me at great length about our dead
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| parents
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| So I get up, get out and start walking
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| And try to think of ways to make winter go
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| And as I slipped and fell on black ice, I felt no urgency to get back up
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| Sometimes it just doesn’t pay to get up
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| Just like most mornings
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| Lay awake and think about the past
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| A stairwell full of dirty needles and broken glass
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| Nights spent on cold wooden floors scratching scabies
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| 7 years on, fingers still crossed, hoping that maybe
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| Someday I’ll sober up, and I won’t be a joke
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| And I’ll stop smoking half your cigarette before realizing I don’t smoke
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| And I’ll stop giving in to vices when I feel like life’s a lost cause
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| And I’ll stop going to bed with a splitting headache then waking up with a sore
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| jaw
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| And I’ll appreciate the small amount of time that you decided to spend with me
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| Instead of learning to hate you so that I can get this over with quickly
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| And I’ll stop checking for bad news about planes flying out of Scotland
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| In case they’ve crashed into the ocean with my family members on them
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| But until that day, I know I’ll always be
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| Your pair of broken headphones on your loneliest ride home
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| And you’ll always be that song about a fresh start
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| For which I can’t seem to write the ending |