| I’ve been thinking a lot about
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| When the furnace goes
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| It’s the absence of heat that hurts more than the cold
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| And I got caught in the irony of walking alone
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| Down an entire block that’s just funeral homes and the ground below
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| Sad and sober Sunday afternoon
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| Sad and sober Sunday afternoon
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| You disappear in fragments and phases of the moon
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| Sad and sober Sunday afternoon
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| You disappear in fragments and phases of the moon
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| I watched parts of you dissolve
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| Turn to ash and then get carried up
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| I watched your memory fade
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| Shadows burned into the wall
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| And no, I felt my lungs turn into atom bombs
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| Choke on the Florida heat until the oxygen’s gone
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| Sad and sober Sunday afternoon
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| You disappear in fragments and phases of the moon
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| Sad and sober Sunday afternoon
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| You disappear in fragments and phases of the moon
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| Or an empty room
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| Or the twelve-bar blues
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| Or a light in June
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| You were a bandit, and I was a car wreck
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| You were the decades on my feet
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| I was under purple blankets
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| You were a bandit, and I was a car wreck
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| You were the rifle on the wall
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| And it was always going to end
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| You were a bandit, and I was a car wreck
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| You were the false rain that falls
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| From a window AC unit
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| You were a bandit, and I was a car wreck
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| You were the rifle on the wall
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| And it was always going to end like this |