| Pain
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| Pain
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| Pain
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| Pain
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| Pain
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| Pain
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| Pain
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| At the ripe age of almost too young to remember
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| I was baptized in the regret of befriending these insipid ferals
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| That watched me ache when I was prodded with sticks
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| Remember the pop of the cork and the one in the bat that hit my forehead
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| Split open
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| Like the letter you left
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| On my mother’s doorstep
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| Showing everyone’s a threat
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| They want me dead
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| They’ll kill me with loneliness
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| But I was born and bred by the fog to fight back
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| Tooth and nail, motherfucker, I’m never going back
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| It was always the plan to end it all at 23
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| I might still be going out, but not for nothing
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| A statement
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| To prove to all of you I was meant to be a god
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| Even if divided by my muse mental illness and addictions
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| Do it
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| Even if divided by the fact I never fit in
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| I don’t want to anymore, you wasted piece of shit
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| I don’t respect delusion
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| Manipulation-induced confusion
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| I’m sick of all of you
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| Never fit in, you didn’t fucking want me to
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| It’s for the best, don’t want to be like the rest
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| Complacent and weak wherever they lay their heads
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| So fuck
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| The way I feel
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| Count your sheep
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| Count your dead
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| Count the bottles in cradles and mothers who swallow dirt instead
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| Count your sheep
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| Count your dead
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| Count your blessings, 'cause when my time comes they’ll all know what you did
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| 2, 3, at 23
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| Make it stop
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| You can’t make me, no
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| Things would make more sense
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| With a fucking hole in my head
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| I was born and bred
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| I was born |