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I'm just something else he tried |
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A catalogue of interests in a catalogue of lives |
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I hid myself from him; I wouldn't say it was a lie |
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But hiding worked its way into the way we lived our lives |
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It was clear that he was troubled; he had trouble with his pride |
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But i could never tell if the fault was his or mine |
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So I drew myself away, I wouldn't say I left behind |
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A man who would never know the man he was inside |
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In a moment he was gone, I could see that he had died |
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By the quickening of blood and the fluttering of eyes |
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So I held him to my breast like all the better wives |
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Who furnish men with love and never leave their side |
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I'm just something else he tried |
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The salt that's left behind after tears have dried |
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And I suppose that I'll go on, after all it was my life |
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And all that I supposed I held has come to be untied |