| My pockets are empty
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| My face is grazed and my hands are raw
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| I’ve got that shot in the stomach feeling
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| And I really hope nobody saw
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| What I’ve been doing for the past 4 hours
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| Or for the past 4 years
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| I don’t know why I’ve been trying so hard
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| To be part of a place where I don’t fit in
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| Whilst trying to ignore the constant reminder
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| That nothing is going to knock me out of my stride every single time
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| There’s nothing more stressful to me
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| Than being told that I look stressed out
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| But I know that I’d be fucked without
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| That fear of failure and of shame
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| And that I’ve got it to thank
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| As much as I’ve got it to blame
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| For having enough band t-shirts to last me a lifetime
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| But no money to get through the week
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| And for having enough fond memories
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| To not think that the future’s so bleak or so unkind
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| And with that in mind
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| I’ll try not to lose sight or lose touch
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| Or give up so easily this time |