Fingers dance across the keyboard as inspiration strikes
imagination thrown away, come back another day
no time for what isn't real, only the things I can feel
i'm overflowing like the water in a suicide victim's tub
the words stick to the paper like glue
it's kinda like the same way i stick to you
just to avoid any debate about who's being "cliche"
i was doing fine by myself, you were just a delay
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