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We all sit on the curb |
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And we stare at the rain in our boots |
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The car, the clouds, the sky |
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While Ishmael wraps himself in the sheet again |
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He'll clench the fists and close his eyes |
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I don't know how many times |
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I can loan him my cigarettes |
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When I don't even know if he's alive |
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Do prophets lie? |
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It makes me feel less horrified |
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And my closet's filled with |
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All these endless accoutrements |
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These shoes, these scars |
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These shirts, these ties |
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And these things |
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I say to make myself feel good again |
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I'll speak, |
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I'll write, |
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I'll laugh, |
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I'll lieI can't bear to sit here and drink myself sick again |
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Another night |
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When everything |
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I know was just a lie |
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And I don't even know where |
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I'll sleep tonight |
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I got nothing to do but stare at these walls |
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And take some time to screw my head on right |
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We all ended up alone, wasted here at |
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Silver Lake |
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We'll work, we'll feed, we'll change, we'll try |
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I can't make any sense of this or you or anything |
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I'm wide awake, and all our parents lied |
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It's not alright, and all our words collide |
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Awake all night |