Your life’s like a comic book - all shadows and childhood fantasy. The people you love, disguised, in a velvet glove biography. But I recognise what’s going on : deleted scenes. And when your eyes go out, you play them back, as broken dreams. I don’t get you anymore. I don’t get you anymore. I don’t get you anymore. I can’t respect you anymore. You got a letter from an old friend, asking why you never spoke again. You leave your lovers cast in amber past and those times you can’t evoke again. I don’t get you anymore. I don’t get you anymore. I don’t get you anymore. I can’t respect you anymore. You’re in denial, you’re not on trial.
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