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I can't help myself |
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I keep ending up in |
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Memorial Park |
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Breaking finger nails while |
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I claw at the frozen ground |
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Because as long as |
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I'm home I can dig up these bones |
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There's no point to just letting go |
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And as long as you've known me |
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I've been backing out slowly |
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I won't end up underneath the snow |
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This is where it's been |
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The manger scene every |
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Christmas |
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Next to the cannon |
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Every year someone steals baby |
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Jesus Nobody stops them |
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It's a nice tradition |
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I'll put my life back together in silence |
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While writing songs on |
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Molly's guitar |
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And Suburbia, stop pushing |
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I know what |
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I'm doing |
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So I moved myself and two boxes of things |
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To the basement room at |
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Richie's house |
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And I'm happy here for now |
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Because I've been in search of some steadier footing |
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Or just a place to call home |
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I know that |
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I'm introspective when broken |
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But I've been spending most of my nights here alone |
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And that doesn't scare me like it did a year ago |
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I'll put my life back together in silence |
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While writing songs on |
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Molly's guitar |
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And Suburbia, stop pushing |
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I know what |
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I'm doing |
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Suburbia, stop pushing |
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I know what |
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I'm doing |
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Suburbia, stop pushing |
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I know what |
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I'm doing |
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I had dreams of myself |
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As the Allen |
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Ginsberg of this generation |
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But without the talent, madness or vision |
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I guess it's looking hopeless |
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We're a city left digging out cars in unison |
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And humming like we've healed |
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I know we've got miles to go |
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But I'm putting my shoulder to the wheel |