| He offered her the world, but came up short
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| The nastiest of storms made him settle on a city with a port
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| He watched ships sail by in the middle of July
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| He wrote notes on paper boats, sat and waited for replies
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| Hope floats, even when it’s on fire
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| Especially when it’s on fire, but the smoke makes him tired
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| Took a blade to the chest like he was opening a body bag
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| «Sir he’s still alive in there"well Christ then, remove the tag
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| What’s it say? |
| It says «Fold along the lines
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| And set me free,"not on fire, cause oftentimes
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| When I set myself free, this empty
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| Bag of a body tends to get burned in effigy
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| I’ve lost the energy to fight off the flames
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| I blow it off like it’s all just a game, all the same
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| Wish he wouldn’t write himself out of the picture
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| It’s a beautiful lotion that you got
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| When there’s someone there to share it with you
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| This is why she can’t have nice things
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| He was too caught up in work to sign for the nice deliveries that life brings
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| Now he can’t tell if he’s dead or not
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| He said, «I bet I am, and I can prove it."She said «you better not»
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| This is why she can’t have nice things
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| Because talk is cheap and it was poor communication
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| All he wanted to say, on the dock that day
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| Was «I love you, and I’m sorry,"but instead, he just waved
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| Good bye, and he cried, love
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| So much he watched the waters rise up
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| It must have been a changing of the tides, but I’ve come to assume
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| It was the changing of a mind, once upon a blood moon
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| They skimmed rocks for the whole day
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| He imagined he was throwin' rotten parts of himself that broke away
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| So he couldn’t stop, fascinated by the way they skip up top
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| Give up and then drop, he sank with them
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| They convened on the rock bottom and made a decision
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| They could never raise children, not like this
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| Not like people who make babies on purpose
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| That’s when he came to the surface, fully intending
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| To be so strong in his resolve, 'til all of it dissolves
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| Slippin' through his pruny fingers like this could’ve been ours
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| But this is to the offers that can’t be followed through with
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| The water works, the leaky faucet still lost fluids
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| To the current of the stream that’ll always push you from me
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| To the reoccurring dream that makes reality less ugly
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| In a picturesque setting, where the world looks airbrushed
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| Needless to say, words failed us
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| On the dock that day, all I wanted to say
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| Was «I love you, and I’m sorry,"but instead, I just waved
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| Good bye, and I cried, love
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| So much I watched the waters rise up
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| It must have been a changing of the tides, that was breaking up our lives
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| It was a water raged wrinkling time
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| Yessir, minds are made for the changing, but mine’s been deterioratin'
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| Like the bluffs in the shoreline, where I’ve been waitin' too exhale
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| Since the summer when we watched every last one of our friends set sail
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| And I was the only livin' boy left in Providence
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| Collecting death certificates from the rest of my documents
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| Just for origami purposes, I gave 'em to the ocean
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| But hey, look at me, I’m great at foldin'
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| Guess I’ll just do this the rest of my life
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| It’s got to do with lots of lovin', and it ain’t nothin' nice
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| This is why she can’t have nice things
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| He was too caught up in work to sign for the nice deliveries that life brings
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| This is why she can’t have nice things
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| Because talk is cheap and it was poor communication
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| This is why she can’t have nice things
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| He set fire to the paper boat sonatas he’s been writin'
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| And this is why, I assume the moon’s bleeding
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| And why there wasn’t any blood left in the rock he was squeezing |