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But if this is, my one chance, my life's glance, then I'm falling and I can't catch my one break, and it's too late, I don't rate
But I've already, given up again, I've given all I can, and all I have left is this pad and this pen, and how far can I bend before I become
Before I become useless, and translucent, abused and, needing something just give me your hand, and it's foreign, this
feeling, still need something.
If what you say is true, then I'm just a waste, of time and space, and I'm losing face this place has become my tomb,
but it's nothing new, you already knew, that I'd leave soon you find it much worse on your own, but it's getting old, to watch
this unfold, well then so it's true yeah, and I've misplaced, my expectations.
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