| Another year of thinking that the air is too thick to breathe
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| I’m pretty sure my bones are full of holes and I’m inclined to believe
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| That I’ve got it down to a fine art
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| When it comes to feeling like shit for the most part
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| And that I’ve got myself to blame for the unnecessary strain that’s putting
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| pressure on my heart
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| When I got your letter I didn’t know quite what to say
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| I’m sorry that you ever felt so low, but I’m glad that you’re okay
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| You should be proud that you made it out alive
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| Especially after feeling so dead inside
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| And I thank you for showing me that I have less reasons to hide
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| Because the more alone I feel the more I realize that I’m not
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| With every friend I’m sure I’ve lost the more I realize I’ve still got
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| And although I still shut down sometimes and head for the westbound train
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| Whilst trying not to think about social workers and house fires again
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| I’ve now got those photos of Christine
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| And can try to remember something good
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| And continue trying to fix these holes
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| I’m still trying my best to fix these holes
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| I got off at Dalreoch station and walked down to the Leven’s edge
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| And thought about how I’d rather live than just survive
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| Then I kicked a stone at a capsized boat
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| And for a moment I felt strangely alive |