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he didn’t like the sound of chewing. life had led us to this point
is imagined happiness as real as the real thing?
it seemed as though it was going well; no one had died for quite a while
but the gold had all been painted on, and now i clearly see the cracks…

maybe it’s just the weekly comedown kicking off another monday
maybe it’s down to of lack of sleep, but life just seems too hard

underneath the weight of this, my feet press into the ground
never mind the compromises, life is a series of deaths

i poured myself a glass of vodka and drank it straight down in one
just like foul-tasting medicine i drank when i was young
i think it’s always been a problem, back before the furnace started
always like this all the time? the picture of tom is gone

maybe it’s because i lost my money and it seems so far away
maybe it’s just the dreams wearing off, but the edges seem too hard

underneath the weight of this, my feet press into the ground
never mind the compromises, life is a series of deaths

i went over to whisper to him, maybe it was what he wanted to hear
leaned closed, chewed gum in his ear, and then we went on stage
it had felt as though it was back on track, life had lead up to this point
but the cheap veneer just wore away, and now i plainly see the cracks…
maybe it’s seasonal affective disorder and my body craves the sun
maybe it’s just that i’ve realised that the gold was painted on

underneath the weight of this, my feet crack the cold concrete
never mind the compromises, life is a series of deaths

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