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And it begins |
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I toss and turn |
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But things could be much worse |
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Hurry up and wait |
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This convoluted state, induced by you |
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And the loaded things we say |
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Whoaaa, whoaaaa, whoaaaaaaaaaaa (x2) |
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You're gonna miss, gonna miss, gonna miss me someday (x2) |
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The siren sings to pull you in |
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As things are wearing thin |
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The time it takes |
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Before you break |
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Let me introduce myself |
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My name is fate |
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Whoaaa, whoaaaawhoaaaaaaaaaaa (x2) |
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You're gonna miss, gonna miss, gonna miss me someday (x2) |
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You're gotta take your time with things like these |
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All that you want is someone to ask for apologies |
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For things that don't exist |
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They just don't make sense |
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So much pretense |
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April 5th |
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I arise with chapped lips |
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And the babbling of nonsense over the TV's dull hiss |
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The events of April 4th align just a little more |
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than the infatuated roar of the kids across the street |
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though they speak not to me |
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they go deeper than my worry |
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with a friend of a friend who at a bar last night told me that they loved me |
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but it must've been the Bacardi |
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that had her hanging off me, and saying things she'd do to me |
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Why do these still haunt me?!?! |