| Another night of fight or flight mode
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| Led me to the waterfront in Glasgow
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| Sympathetic police found me there in tears
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| And confiscated all my beers
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| I apologised and got the next train home
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| Where I filled up both sides of the paper
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| Folded it up, kept it for later
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| I meant every word that you never read
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| That got ripped up, thrown away instead
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| Hit reset and accepted that we’re done
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| And now that you’re not at #21
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| I’m not looking up for light
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| Or trying to track you down so I can say
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| «Girl, can you tell I’ve been running again?»
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| And nowadays I can think of better things to say
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| Than «girl, can you tell I’ve been running again?»
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| I’m out of breath, out of time, out of everything
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| Winter has long since been put to rest
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| And I can’t fault spring for trying its best
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| To make sure that it doesn’t hurt to stare at the sun
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| And to breathe colour into lifeless lungs
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| And teach me not to be afraid to smile
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| And to realise that everything is potentially worthwhile |