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I know that you're speechless, but you've got to believe this. The changing of the season's kept me in my hole. I know how lazy sleep is, but baby, when it freezers I wanna go home, lay around alone all night.
(I've spent all my winter days wasting them away. To tell you the truth, I think they're dull. I don't need them anyways.)
Don't wanna hurt your feelings, but I'm staring at the ceiling. Call me back when it gets warm again. I won't go out to meet ya, but we could order pizza- whatever you want on top is fine with me!
Pinned under glass, but it doesn't last. Ethanol makes it seem so small.
-Even if I came to you? Strapped on both my old snow shoes? Hitched the dog up to a sled? Cried out, "Mush, full steam ahead!"?
Please don't call me flaky, no one could ever make me bundle up just to get some food. Despite all your pleading, when it begins sleeting I'll be drinking scotch and watching cartoons.
If you don't wanna see me, I understand completely, no big deal, it happens all of the time. Seen some girls leave forever, you're the first I'll lose to weather. Fuck it all, fuckin' no regrets.
-Forgive me, my dear Doreen, I feel the odds are steep that December's somber lullaby has drawn me into sleep.
-Your friends all think that you're a bore, you useless man! You make me snore.
-You don't have to be mean just because I'm sleeping.
-A dropout from society! Hibernating history!
-You'd like it if you tried it, no need to deny it.
-I'll find a guy who likes to date, go out to bars and stay up late!
-Good luck with the single's scene, I'm in love with DVDs.
-Suit yourself, I'm gone for good! Don't call me back, is that understood?
-Bon voyage, mon cheri, maybe I'll see you next spring.
Oh no, my legs have gone stiff from muscle atrophy! Stuck in bed, can't walk no more.. Is that what's known as irony?
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Echoes from aeons ago are catching me off guard. I thought I saw you driving by in your old red car. If I'd have known that it was you'd I'd stood out in the road, flagged you down with both my hands, stopped to say, "hello."
Early to my own funeral, sterling-silver ceremonial, fill this cup with blood x2
Future-past-tense dialogue is like my secret code, use it to talk to myself and no one ever knows. Like, "I will have forgotten you by this time next year," falsifying future memories is a breeze, my dear. Believe a thing for so long until you think it's true; even if it never happened, it's still real to you. Time exists a gentle ghost, a phantom of my sleep, counting all the instances of revisionist history.
Reaching from the rafters, an age-old effigy, how much it ever mattered is still a mystery. [Early to my own funeral, doesn't seem so unusual] Tore myself to tatters since November of '83, a pageant of apology, a work of self-defeat. Same thing I've been saying since the day I died, before I was born it was something I denied.
Took my time to walk away the long route through the park, is it true what they say, sound goes further after dark? I got home, I'm all alone, I guess I'm fine with that. Smoke a bowl, watch TV, I think I'm getting fat. The lights are low, I'm sound asleep, but dreams are just a drag- portals to experience I know I'll never have. A sense of disappointment never goes away, write it off tomorrow but it's still there yesterday.
Fill this cup with bloodx1,000,000,000
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