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Catch me on my downfall |
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Recommend a path to climb |
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Help me bury hatchets after we finish this ax to grind |
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Meet me by the orchid |
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Teach me how to paint a portrait of life |
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I just might, show you the one I recorded |
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I forfeited before, booked tour, planned to skip town |
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Set up by the river that shivers whenever kids drown |
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This sound is dedicated to devils in dresses |
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that collect the heads of sexists men to decorate their necklace |
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Adorn their breasts with broken hearts and medals of bitterness |
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Trading angel wings so they can share a pair with Icarus |
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In the midst of this, she sits alone, burning sandalwood |
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No return on the girl in the mirror labeled damaged goods |
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Women fight with competition |
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Men fight with inkblots |
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Girls stab backs and boys fight with slingshots |
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When God breathes a little life in my windsock |
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Imma pray she flies free when she has her wings chopped |
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First to the last, dress the women in black |
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Well studied students of the school of Sylvia Plath |
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They got me down to science |
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Figured out the chemistry |
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Thank you for being the birth and the death of me |
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Rest in peace love, stab me with your forked tongue |
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Here's my back to pull your sword from when the inner war's done |
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I know a girl who brings sun from the storm |
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I know a girl who wants to run from the norm |
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I know a girl who wants a father figure form |
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and she'll make him feel loved drawing blood from her thorns |
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Never burn a bra if you're seeking support |
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And it isn't your affection that he's beating you for |
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I see millions of inner children that you've killed in your past |
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My beloved students of the school of Sylvia Plath |
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Don't point a finger |
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I didn't distort the picture |
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Wake up, look inside, take a look at your sisters and just |
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Rest |
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Amongst the cobwebs in the attic sits my sister's rocking horse |
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And the creaking still echoes in spite of my mothers cringing |
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When the snow starting falling, she finally locked the door |
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To mute the whispers of winter and it's painfully subtle singing |
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(Snow Angels don't die) I can barely remember |
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I've been busy building walls since the month of November |
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She was painted in the leaves of autumn before the storm |
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Borrowed my scarf that morning, promise me it kept her warm |
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Promise me she saw flowers, promise me she heard birds chirping |
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Sitting by the window sill, when she opened her curtain |
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Drape the snow like velvet over cheekbones, leaving her impression |
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The moment just before she leaves home, i'm tracing the shape of the part of me she pillaged, and in stillness, she got to see the seasons fade |
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Annie, I'm sorry that I spilled hot chocolate on your dress and made you cry that morning on easter |
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Make me a shade of green, stripe the heavens as a message to let me know you got the toys by your climbing tree |
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This forest wears your shadow and its roots bear your essence |
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And it doesn't plan to change, for as far as I can see. |
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(If you need a nightlight, paint me a rainbow |
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Look both ways, wipe the snow from your halo |
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If you need anything, you can always say so |
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I'm in the place where you left your snow angel) |