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    Wish I could write songs about anything other than death
    I can't go to bed without drawing the red, shaving off breath
    Each one so heavy, each one so cumbersome
    Each one a lead weight hanging between my lung

    Spilling my guts
    Sweat on a microphone breaking my voice
    Whenever I'm alone with you, can't talk
    Isn't this weather nice? Sure you're okay?

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    Should I go somewhere else and hide my face?
    Sprinter, learning to wait
    Marathon runner, my ankles are sprained
    Marathon runner, my ankles are sprained

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