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Recorded by Sean Fitzpatrick at The Brick Hithouse
I've got a chip on my shoulder from being your fucking crutch, Yeah i've smartened up, four years was long enough. Throw your blame on me, all the times that you fucked up, turn it around again and tell me that its all my fault.
Its so fucking easy for you to watch me struggling to breathe. Take the time to wonder IS IT ME
I said id never write another word for you but here i am again screaming to the moon. Skin is paper, knife is pen, chalk it up to bitterness, never to begin again.
Its so fucking easy for you to watch me struggling to breathe. Take the time to wonder is it really me?
I guess that makes me a liar just like you. Cut your arms up, i will carve at my fucking chest. I will carve at my fucking chest just to show you how hollow i have become.
The next time you fall, I wont be there to catch you. Yeah the next time you fall ill already be gone. IF THE SEASONS CHANGE, WHY CANT I? The once beautiful flowers in your eyes have grown old and they have died into the wind like the leaves, on our old oak tree.