| The people in the apartments across the street
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| Literally and metaphorically look down on me
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| Tangled in tenderness, why do I have to live like this?
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| I was tempted by your company and you’ve already noticed me
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| And I’m sorry for what I say when I don’t know what I’m saying
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| And you don’t have to play this cat-and-mouse game I am playing
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| I’m just a pretty sad person in a quite surreal place
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| And I don’t look up from my phone
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| Because I know I won’t see your face
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| And it’s pathetic, it’s also not a competition
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| And I’m absolutely, infinitely
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| More scared of you than you are of me
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| And I’ve always been the one that cares too much
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| And I hope you’re happy, I hope you’ve slept
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| I’ll try not write another record about the pain in my chest
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| I’m just so glad I could be someone that you wanted
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| And I don’t recognise these stars, I’m unfamiliar with this skyline
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| I was born and bred in bars
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| Now nothing man-made is in my eye line
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| Turn and walk back to the house that they saved after the war
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| And I am questioned once again
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| Get asked what I would do that for
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| And our host tells me I’m sick, tentatively hands me a spliff
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| And I know he’s forgotten my name, but I don’t remember his
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| And I’m absolutely, infinitely
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| More scared of you than you are of me
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| And I’ve always been the one that cares too much
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| And oh God, if only it was that easy
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| To run from what I’ve achieved, I’ve let it define me
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| I’m having panic attacks on German TV
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| This is not work ethic, it’s survival technique
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| And there’s nothing I can really do
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| So I sit in the band room, start fights to get attention from you
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| There is nothing I am qualified or smart enough to do
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| Sit in the band room and start fights to get attention from you
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| And I walk off into the corn field, every cut’s a new relief
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| I might stop talking altogether if you stop talking to me
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| And if I’m really supposed to be here
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| Why has no one come to that conclusion?
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| I’m out of place amongst the band boys, I can’t suspend disillusion
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| And music industry professionals
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| Yeah, they can all go and fuck themselves
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| And it’s just me and Chris, but he’s stoned as shit and passin' out
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| That was okay once, for some reason, it’s sad now
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| For some reason, it’s sad now
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| For some reason, it’s sad |