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On Sunday, I dress homeless,

Hope you’ll see that I feel hopeless,

I don’t say so no one knows this,

I can’t stop and can’t move on.



Cut me open, I am empty,

Have lost my vocabulary,

Puppetry extraordinary,

To make you think that someone’s home.



There are more downs than ups,

More budgets down, getting cut,

More deals to do and mess up

Being told that you’re not enough,

Too much giving a fuck,

Don’t think too hard about it…



Sometimes when I’m still sober,

I play out my big do over,

Every time I just roll over,

I can’t stop and can’t move on.



It’s better when I just forget,

Get flattened like a silhouette,

Let them melt me as the sun sets,

What made you think that someone’s home?



Make me your soldier, I am in this,

I’ll kill it, you can stand and witness,

Follow straight here in my footsteps,

Don’t fuck up or you’ll be finished

Don’t worry it’s just doing business.

Don’t think too hard about it…



By Friday I’m a cold machine

I’m all clean cut, I’m sleek and mean

Don’t question if this is my dream,

‘Cause, everything’s is fine.



Once I was all cinematic,

Cut me open I bleed magic

Chase my essence, jump and catch it,

Bottle me, what’s mine, ain’t mine.



There’s more downs than there are ups,

More reasons to get all messed up

More people quietly being cut,

Because they just can’t be enough,

This whole thing’s so fucked up.



Don’t think, at all, about it.

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