| No seats left at the back of the bus
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| «I really don’t think I can do this»
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| Left fist clenched and right hand around my throat
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| Severe lack of trust in the person behind me
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| Held out until I got to Grassmarket
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| Whispered «thank you», stepped off and exhaled
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| Then walked home as fast as I could whilst trying to ignore the wind
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| And hail
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| I should have listened to my own advice
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| Or better yet not ignored all of yours
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| Like when you said not to light the candle at both ends
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| Or else I’d soon have nothing left to burn
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| And that it didn’t matter which way I turned
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| Because the wind would cut through anyway
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| Then in came the shin splints and that sandstorm
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| Inside my lungs that slows me down every time
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| Coughing up dust, I sat alone on the pavement
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| And I prayed that any moment I’d see the sun
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| Breaking through all of those dark clouds
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| Overhead that never seem to ever slow down
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| But I just sat in the dark until there was nothing left to cough up |