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Hey cheekbones and eyes |
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I've been gone three weeks, now I'm a mess |
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My stomach's on strike |
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And it's been three weeks since my last breath |
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Well, I don't know why I'm here |
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'Cause I'm not in need of attention |
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And I'm not seventeen |
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And I don't believe in that which I can't see |
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Well, I swear if I make it home |
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With my mind and some skin on my bones |
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I'll be the first one to throw up these car keys and this cell phone |
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So I can't leave or talk to anyone |
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And this stupid wristwatch so I'm unaware of the time that I've lost |
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I'm trying to be that which I'm not |