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They come and talk to me, |
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When I am all alone, |
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They always remind me of, |
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All the things that |
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I've done wrong, |
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It's scary, disturbing, but somehow |
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I'm not sorry, |
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They only thing that's even real, |
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Is the feeling that |
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I don't feel. |
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It's all the same, but they're so different, |
|
Bury the evidence, of my darkest sercets. |
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I hear them, they're calling, |
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The skeletons in my closet. |
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It's taking parts of me, into the unknown, |
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It's like a void inside of me, |
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That goes on and on and on. |
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It's scary, disturbing, but somehow |
|
I'm not sorry, |
|
They only thing that's even real, |
|
Is the feeling that |
|
I don't feel. |
|
It's all the same, but they're so different, |
|
Bury the evidence, of my darkest sercets. |
|
I hear them, they're calling, |
|
The skeletons in my closet. |
|
Now I just can't pretend to forget, |
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These voices in my head, |
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And they just won't stop screaming. |
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It's all the same, but they're so different, |
|
Bury the evidence, of my darkest sercets. |
|
I hear them, they're calling, |
|
The skeletons in my closet. |