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My life started slow |
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In a town of idle minds |
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Where daydreams filled the space |
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Between our simple dramas |
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And my mom was strange |
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But she'd always liked to sew |
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And my clothes smelled like |
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The room I was born in |
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And my dad calm |
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Never used two words when one'd do |
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And my brother's hands were mischief bent |
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With no will to stop 'em |
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And on the whole |
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We lived simply and day-to-day |
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Our fears were trivial |
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They always died with every sunset |
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|
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When I was twelve |
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My affliction came to light |
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And I was told that some things I heard |
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Were only there in my head |
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But I couldn't tell |
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Which were real and which were now |
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And the question loomed over all I did |
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Whether I could trust it |
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And I guess over time |
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It became too much |
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And I was sent away |
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At my mom's behest |
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Cause she'd grown to fear me |
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|
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Now I live up north |
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In the house for the broken heads |
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And my father comes and visits me |
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Whenever he can afford it |
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Sometimes at night |
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When the voices quiet down |
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I find I hope that I am missed |
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And that they haven't forgot me |