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(Still grinding teeth, trying to follow you home, |
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I'll stop the world, just let it fall, |
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Wait across the street in the parking lot |
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The tree is dead, the front door is locked. |
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The moments I framed have cracked and crumbled, |
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Grabbed us by the throat, then I choked and stumbled. |
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This'll never work, this'll never work. |
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Check my pulse as I swallow dirt,) |
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I'm cutting myself with my own morals. |
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I never meant to write about you [I never meant to write about you]. |
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The one contact that I loved so much, |
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But passing my own heart, what could possibly be within? |
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Do you think about your actions? |
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Do you ever wonder what the consequences are? |
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(Your licensed M. Bison got stabbed with a five dollar syringe) |
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The dullness of existence |
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(Your licensed M. Bison got stabbed with a five dollar syringe) |
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The dullness of existence.. |
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(I'm dressed in white, shine so bright, hair so tight) |
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And I have no sympathy for this, |
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He needs somebody else to leech off of [somebody else to leech off of]. |
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The one contact that I loved so much, |
|
But passing my own heart, what could possibly be within? |
|
Do you think about your actions? |
|
Do you ever wonder what the consequences are? |
|
(Your licensed M. Bison got stabbed with a five dollar syringe) |
|
The dullness of existence |
|
(Your licensed M. Bison got stabbed with a five dollar syringe) |
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The dullness of existence.. |
|
(I'm dressed in white, shine so bright, hair so tight) |
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Prescribed the throat, I need the antidote, it's fucking mind over matter. |
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Prescribed the throat, I need the antidote, it's fucking mind over matter. |
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Prescribed the throat, I need the antidote, it's fucking mind over matter. |
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Prescribed the throat, I need the antidote, it's fucking mind over matter. |
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My concepts are rested and manifest in ways you can't forget. |
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My concepts are rested and manifest in ways you can't forget. |
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My concepts are rested... |
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(If you're gonna wear the uniform you better sell the cookies |
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don't come to my house asking for a handout) |
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My concepts are rested... |
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(If you're gonna wear the uniform sell the fucking cookies |
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don't come to my house) |