Cold as I can be, feel a damn thing
Let me know, let me go home
No I can’t be, or my family
They don’t know, they don’t know
Choke, let the man breathe
Hold his hand please
Lift the curse, let this work
Cope like I am clean while I’m standing
It's the first, September

There's weight on my chest, I've been wreck
I'm sick of this month and there’s 30 days left
Still drinking too much and that much I confess
Can't till if I'm stuck or just f**kin' depressed
I can't slow down or open my mouth
I always think it and nothing comes out
I'm always sure till I'm swallowed by doubt
I followed my dreams
But somewhere things went south
I don't touch base, I'd rather break
I'd rather run and fall flat on my face
How many more stories that all end the same
You'll just ignore me and nothing will change
Who's sick of my sh*t? Sick of the plot
I'd rather end it than drag you along
I'd rather you tell me than wait in the fog
Get anything less and this wasn't my fault

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