| Cut, cut, cut, cutting myself down to pieces.
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| Too hard on myself, it would seem,
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| That everyone could see my self-worth but me.
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| I’ll take a stand, devise plans, figure it out.
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| I’ll take my cuts and stitch them up with sutures of pure cement.
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| And I’ve realized…
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| There’s no right way to go.
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| So what if I’m a sinner?
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| I’ve got black spots on my liver,
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| And cancer growing on both my lungs.
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| We take everything we know,
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| About ourselves and put them in a diary.
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| In a fire ring of scrutiny, but oh not me now.
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| I think I’m ready to go.
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| Back, back, back, back to the crooner in question.
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| I sure hope you all like my songs.
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| Well maybe I put too much stock in my rhymes,
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| And melodies to stun the brainwashed minds.
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| From day one I took pride in my pure and honest intentions.
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| And I’ve realized…
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| There’s no right way to go.
|
| So what if I’m a sinner?
|
| I’ve got black spots on my liver,
|
| And cancer growing on both my lungs.
|
| We take everything we know,
|
| About ourselves and put them in a diary.
|
| In a fire ring of scrutiny, but oh not me now.
|
| I think I’m ready to go.
|
| And I’ve realized,
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| That I don’t wanna be judged no more.
|
| And I’ve realized…
|
| There’s no right way to go.
|
| So what if I’m a sinner?
|
| I’ve got black spots on my liver,
|
| And cancer growing on both my lungs.
|
| We take everything we know,
|
| About ourselves and put them in a diary.
|
| In a fire ring of scrutiny, but oh not me now.
|
| I think I’m ready to go.
|
| I think I’m ready to go. |