It's a funny kind of fear, knowing that it's been that kind of year.
So just tell me.
Is she even here, is that her breath on your face, the wall, the mirror?
Just tell me no.
It's normal kind of lies, the kind that I've come to expect.
The kind that die. They kill.
Has this become the life? The kind that I've come to expect from burning lies.
They're just ashes.
I'll write it again, I'll title it to you.
She won't come back this time if you're sure you'll be fine.
Surrounded by calm and threatened by the dark.
I'll be back in the end, but are you sure we'll be friends?
I think this is a sign, that we're on fire that we're blind to failing time.
So please tell me.
Has this become the line, that gets us higher than the wine that burns our eyes.
We're just ashes.
I'll write it again, I'll title it to you.
She won't come back this time if you're sure you'll be fine.
Surrounded by calm and threatened by the dark.
I'll be back in the end, but are you sure we'll be friends?
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