| Lost in the South, my thermostat don’t work
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| I’m sweating naked on my bed
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| It’s gonna fade to nasty yellow in the morning
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| Another blank face staring through me
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| Like a chalk outline of dreams that bled out in the night
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| A post-mortem portrait of loneliness
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| Some heavy-handed statement
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| Like «I've never felt at home»
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| And some asshole shot up some kids
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| A week before you left for Portland
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| I’m thinking about dying again
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| From the worst outcomes of a world
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| That I can’t slow down
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| No matter how many times
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| I throw my hands into the air
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| And plead with everyone
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| I know it’s wrong
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| But I’m thinking about buying a gun
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| Would you meet me in the middle?
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| Would you meet me north of Buffalo?
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| We’ll escape into the winter
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| Build a house where no one wants to go
|
| Meet me in the middle
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| Would you meet me north of Buffalo?
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| We’ll escape into the winter
|
| Build a house where no one wants to go
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| 'Cause that’s not an option
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| When everything looks like an epitaph
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| Staring back at me
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| I’ll pace this parking lot trying
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| To squeeze out from this misery
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| How do I find you
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| When you’re lost out in the sea of green
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| If the sun won’t come back?
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| Rather be sheep in a snowstorm
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| Than a lion in the brush
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| Rather be sheep in a snowstorm
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| Than a lion in the brush
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| In the sights of a bastard who can’t get it up
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| Would you meet me in the middle?
|
| Would you meet me north of Buffalo?
|
| We’ll escape into the winter
|
| Build a house where no one wants to go
|
| Meet me in the middle
|
| Would you meet me north of Buffalo?
|
| We’ll escape into the winter
|
| Build a house where no one
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| No one wants to ever go |