| Visitor, come to my room
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| And see all the trash I’ve made
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| Stay a while, I’m on the verge of laying it down
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| A vagabond and all his trash in search to find his crown
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| Your mind is like a candle stick
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| And my ambitions are constantly burning out
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| I’d hate to rain on your parade
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| But everything you know is taken by this flood
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| You were blind, but there’s no hope
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| Dig a hole but there’s no blood
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| Who am I to pretend?
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| And who am I to recommend there is something less
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| Than timelines and whores that drag you back to the floor
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| And cut your eyes out?
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| Find me, oh Saint, I’m bending
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| Breaking at my knees praying
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| I’m exposed, this earth has taken pride
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| In seeing my most vulnerable state
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| Well, I find no humor
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| In letting yourself stray away
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| From those pictures
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| When they cause you to see shame in yourself
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| Well, you can run from your problems
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| But they’ll follow you like a trend
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| One shot to forgetting
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| Six shots to falling in the end
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| I was the king of kings, I stand for one rule and one rule for myself
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| As a man, I will fall, and as my son, you’ve watched it all
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| Behind every mask lies a man
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| Who can’t live in his own skin
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| He lives by the flask, he bathes in his past
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| And he dies by his own sins |