| There’s a heartbeat in everything
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| And I’m holding my hands to the wall
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| The feeling won’t come easy
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| But it’s the fire underneath that I want
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| And I can feel the flames
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| Crawling their way up the sides of my throat
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| Its not a drink in a glass, it’s a hand on the stove
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| Its knowing not to come home
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| So when it swallows me, I hope the black cloud billows
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| Like the sound of sirens running through the neighborhood
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| So send the ashes of my bedroom to my last known address
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| I’ll spread the dust of my childhood over the street i’ve been left with
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| I’ll leave the urn open to the rain, spill it on the page
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| Cross out the ink of yesterday
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| If theres a fire left in me, pour out my contempt and wash it away
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| If that is all it takes to keep me at bay
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| I’ll smolder until the embers in my eyes fade
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| And if the fire shrouds this place in grey
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| Remind me not to look away
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| There’s a match behind my ribcage, desperate to catch
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| I’m pulling smoke from my eyelids, but tears are all that’s left
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| If there’s a spark left on my tongue now, I’ll feed it until it’s passed
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| If there’s air left in my lungs now, I’ll breathe it like my last |