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The kitchen drawers were open |
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jot water int he bath |
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and the phone call that you'd promised me |
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I'd given up on at last |
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I was only 22 |
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all undone and overdue |
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My friends burned all around me |
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and the smoke was full of you |
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But let's stop here for a prayer |
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for what happened there |
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and let us have a beer |
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for anyone who's still here |
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I didn't leave a letter |
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I just wrote my baby's name |
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on the mirror all steamed over |
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with water, hear, and shame |
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All hopes were long-time missing |
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they'd had enough of me |
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I found them hanging through the moon |
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from the Hooker oak tree |
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The knife was on the basin |
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wrapped in my baby's towel |
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my friend the water let me in |
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and I lowered myself down |
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Cause you can drink and you can shake |
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and you can dry your bitter tears |
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but the first to pass right through you |
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will age you fifty years |
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And you could say "well I don't know |
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you got to love just the same" |
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but I say all i got |
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was a phone call that never came |
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The towel was lying open |
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and it didn't hurt so bad |
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there was red smoke in the water |
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and all the things we'd had |
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Now honey you don't need this heart |
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now that I'm dead and gone |
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so dig me up and give me back |
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what I never should've lost |
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I was falling asleep |
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you see I felt a little weak |
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I closed my eyes and thought of you |
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as the phone let out a ring |