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When the memory is a blank page |
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and the teeth in your |
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mouth are all cliches |
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you heart is a bag of rocks |
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your |
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soul is a pile of ashes on the sidewalk |
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there's an eagle |
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scout project |
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I used to come to to feel some kind of magic |
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now a story less - we'll wait out the days |
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wait out the days |
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till death comes to claim |
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anything that |
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life didn't already take |
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you can wait out the days |
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the catch 22s are all catching up with you |
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they're laying |
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all over the middle ground |
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you were walking on to avoid |
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em and it's too late to turn around |
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on the corner of Morisson |
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there's a shop that sells bracelets and little glass ornaments |
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looking in you can feel the magic and wait out the days |