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Richard Divine made up his mind |
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To take the last few steps to bathroom door |
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From his bedroom floor and to lock himself in |
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Steady young hands, meticulous plans |
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Disposable razors and a blister pack filled |
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With strong sleeping pills, a bath of hot water |
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He said he's not for sale, said that he felt hounded |
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Crowded and surrounded by this life he didn't choose |
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He carefully wrote a funerary note |
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On his best writing paper to set out the facts |
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And sealed it with wax and left it in the kitchen |
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He left it out so his parents would know |
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What there was waiting for them |
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Pale cold skin, blood seeping in to the landing carpet |
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He said he's not for sale, said that he felt hounded |
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Crowded and surrounded by this life he didn't choose |
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But everybody plays this game on a daily basis, they're not heroes |
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They're survivors, it's not |
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Shakespearean if they lose |
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So do what you want, do what you want |
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Do what the voices tell you |
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Don't ever say, don't ever say that we didn't warn you' |
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Cause we want you |
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He said he's not for sale but he bought into his failure |
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He's telling tales that hammer nails right into open palms |
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A martyr in reverse, he's best at being worst |
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The rest of us are cursed but we keep calm and we carry on |
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So Richard, here it is |
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None of us are blameless, huddled here like strangers |
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Shameless in our lists of all the changes we say we need |
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But I think that you knew that you can't pretend |
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It's news that if you cut yourself you'll bleed |