| Well, I don’t have a diary, I sing my songs
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| Drag the brush over anything to change my wrongs
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| Pushed a whole lotta limits just to make my palms shake and pump to the rhythm
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| when the monitor’s on I make hearts jump, defibrillator art pump
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| Fishing from the shore when the ship-in-a-jar sunk
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| Blind sided by the rhythm with a hard thump
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| Pointing in my little inner center when he starts up There’s no rest when you’re born with your last phrase scribbled on your chest
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| And the only way out of it is written in text
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| You can sing over anything your soul in you let’s
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| So, I guess I gotta let it all out
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| Break another little wall down
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| Let the music in me call out the brittle part of all doubt holding me down
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| I gotta learn how to fall
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| Spoke out of what you might call love
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| I’ll send it with a sword tryin' to write with blood
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| The tip stuck under my tongue
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| I’m not leavin' 'til I’m, I’m not leavin' 'til I’m done
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| Spoke out of what you might call hate
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| Tattooed on the knuckles of the fist I face
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| Gotta play it 'til I get my grace
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| Not leavin' 'til I’m, not leavin' 'til I’m saved
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| I don’t have a journal now, they can’t make noise
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| Broke a whole lotta speakers just to hear my voice
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| Took a whole lotta needles just to poke those holes made for breathing when I make my choice
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| God, help us if it makes me Slowing down the tape speed
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| Fate maker with a scrape and his fake teeth
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| Naysayer that will race what his brake feet and crash into the prison you’ve
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| been planning on to break free
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| Escape from the pen, words held prisoner and incased in it’s stem
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| Stationary, people signs bound from the place where a boss sets you free
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| instead of cagin' you in So, I guess I gotta let it all out
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| Break another little wall down
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| Let the music in me call out the little part of all doubt holding' me down
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| I gotta learn how to fall
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| Spoke out of what you might call love
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| I’ll send it with a sword trying' to write with blood
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| The tip stuck under my tongue
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| I’m not leavin' 'til I’m, I’m not leavin' 'til I’m done
|
| Spoke out of what you might call hate
|
| Tattooed on the knuckles of the fist I face
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| Gotta play it 'til I get my grace
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| Not leavin' 'til I’m, not leavin' 'til I’m saved
|
| Spoke out of what you might call love
|
| I’ll send it with a sword tryin' to write with blood
|
| The tip stuck under my tongue
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| I’m not leavin' 'til I’m, I’m not leavin' 'til I’m done
|
| Spoke out of what you might call hate
|
| Tattooed on the knuckles of the fist I face
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| Gotta play it 'til I get my grace
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| Not leavin' 'til I’m, not leavin' 'til I’m saved |