| I was more than just a coward
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| I was handsome too
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| I felt nothing when your flood came down
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| Holding fines that made me wonder
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| If the lights were wrong
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| With my hands that never touched no ground
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| When your talent is in numbers
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| Of the many times you’re gone
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| I could lie I don’t give up forgiving
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| But sometimes it’s just roses
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| Dying too young
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| As I’m fencing up the hours
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| In the fields of red
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| While you think I’m on a loveless stray
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| In the letters from the lovers
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| In the land gone wrong
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| Explanations always written late
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| When your talent curse the framing
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| All the crying you heard sung
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| I could lie I don’t care 'bout what’s missing
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| But sometimes it’s just roses
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| Dying too young
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| Your train of thoughts is always passing here
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| With its falling paint, and its broken gears
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| It’s the damn revelation blues when you see the path
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| And you know you won’t be the last
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| Oh Lord
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| Oh Lord
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| I was more than just a terror, I was crying too
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| But you showed me in the gusts between
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| That a wind is sometimes broken, and its flying path
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| That’s no meaning, nor a ghost within
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| When your talent is in hiding
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| That your feeling is always wrong
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| I always want to bring you something
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| But sometimes it’s just roses
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| Dying too young
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| When your talent is in hiding
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| That your feeling’s always wrong
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| And I always want to bring you something
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| But sometimes they’re just roses
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| Dying too young |