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Running down 3rd Street, 4AM, |
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Barenaked trees I can hardly feel my hands |
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And I start to ponder, What am I running from?, |
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Is it the cold that numbs my body, |
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Or the fear of feeling nothing at all? |
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Hold on we've got to slow down because, |
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We're making a mess of love, |
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Hold on, yeah we're movin' to fast |
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You know we're making a mess of love, |
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The first snow spent alone in your apartment, |
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And the mere thought of comittment sits in the back of my mind, |
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Recently the two of us jumped off that train, |
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And killed the pain that sustained us from what we wished to be but, |
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It's so strange, |
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The places we go just to escape, |
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To feel alive, |
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To drive all night, |
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We just want to know who we are, |
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Who to love and how to stay satisfied |