| Complaining the way through the week
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| Odd comments that rain on all parades
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| Sick and sore from the shots that you take
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| If I climb to the top of the hill, you’ll likely say
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| That you wouldn’t hike the same cliff
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| It’s safe in your room
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| You’re taking up the excuses I use
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| To fend blows but open old wounds
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| Foundation, it’s weak at the root
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| Pulling the weeds, topic changes
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| Like when you talk what you can’t prove
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| Ignore signs, it’s what I’m wanting too
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| Carnations, gardens in bloom eventually decay
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| No water to waste
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| Or I’ll spend the next year walking on embers
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| That you walk around, safer ground
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| Straight for the floor
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| Got lost in conversation
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| You’re climbing up the stairs, hanging lights
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| And they shine on all of the paintings on your walls
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| I’ve never stopped to make sense of them
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| Blanking on the faces that you never want to think about
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| If I get up to higher places, drag me down to yours
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| You bound me up a knot or two, set me on the tracks
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| But I don’t object to anything
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| Engines pace, don’t slow down |
| Well I found a place with no view
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| No windows, just locks on the rooms
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| Ignoring haze and fog you always contend
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| That it’s pure rain or sun
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| I had no choice but I still made you one
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| To fictions you compose, I’m not listening too close |