| Look straight through me, look at the nightmare
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| Our past is but a dream that we’re trying to escape
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| Trying to evade to erase ourselves
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| Look through me and see the advent of our obsessions
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| Behold, your child, perfection
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| A rotting shell of atrophy
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| Watching: crowds like crows, we furiously flock to tragedy
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| Observe the hurt then hasten back to our peaceful, quiet nests of blasphemy
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| Scapegoat: rather die and know, drag your failing body in tow
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| Witnessing the wake, conflagrate the ready oil at the stake
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| Binging: the culmination of purging what our lusts have borne
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| We hoarded all the world to find we’d lost any semblance of ourselves
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| This dying dance
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| I am not my own reflection
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| I am not myself, I am not myself
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| No, I am haunted by a non-existent lover
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| The specter, the ghost, the soul-starving host
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| I am haunted by a non-existent lover
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| I was gifted with the vision but cursed to be the witness
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| Invisible to me
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| I’ll be pale to match the walls and warped to trace the beams
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| Flushed to fit across the floor so you can step right over me
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| Scouring this filthy slate, these crooked bones they won’t break straight
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| Cracked and splintered like our house, upended by that first summer squall
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| Fading: so thin, you could snap me into the shape you need
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| Gaunt enough to slide through that wedding dress then stitch me to a
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| Fraying matrimony
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| Embalmed inside a never-ending ceremony
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| I am not my own reflection
 | 
| I am not myself, I am not myself
 | 
| No, I am haunted by a non-existent lover
 | 
| The specter, the ghost, the soul-starving host
 | 
| I am haunted by a non-existent lover
 | 
| I was gifted with the vision but cursed to be the witness
 | 
| Invisible to me
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| Invisible to me
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| Invisible to me |