My wrists can tell you a story.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Song Lyrics  |  House: Booksie Classic
Well, here it is.

Submitted: March 13, 2010

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Submitted: March 13, 2010

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I wake up,
I can't stay at home,
I won't take off the make-up,
I'd rather you give me Paris, Chicago or Rome.

I just want to sit smoke my cigarette,
and I want you so bad when your gone,
but you just seem to forget,
I'm so for gone, I can't see the line, I'm done.

The sun, feels like a burn,
the nights are just part of the physical,
oh with you and your face I'll never learn,
falling in love with me is far from typical.

I close my eyes, feeling I can hide,
your going to cut me off,
but I have the ending, today was the day that I died,
all the tiny cuts, all your if, no's and buts, they never really got me off.

I just want to sit smoke my cigarette,
and I want you so bad when your gone,
but you just seem to forget,
I'm so for gone, I can't see the line, I'm done.

I want it to be, like I never was,
like this never was,
like all this time you were never really here,
no touch, taste or feel.
None of this was ever fucking real.

The fights, the long nights, all the scares
and all my deep scars.
I'm far from human being.

I'm a dirty cut freak,
and my life was always, and will always be bleak.


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