Who he use to be could never find the truth on his own...
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The shades of sympathy, tattooed the irony to the bone...
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And what they were you see, was like dreaming meant nothing at all...
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Here he is again, always been here alone, on his own...
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Your as porcelain, as a china doll...
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So life like, yet so empty...
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Your hallow heart, is harboring the echos of each murderous word...
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These murderous words concealed...
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What they use to be, turns out it never really was much...
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And as the tables turn he looks to me I would not budge...
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But he says right now is out of body and enraged...
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Here I am to blame, I've always been here...
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Always been here, alone, on his own...
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What goes around comes around...
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what goes around comes back around...
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It goes around, it comes around and goes back around...
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Your as porcelain, as a china doll...
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So life like, yet so empty...
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Your hallow heart, is harboring the echos of each murderous word...
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These murderous, your so murderous...
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Your as porcelain, as a china doll...
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So life like, yet so empty...
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He never really was much of anything at all...
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But then you wake up and there you are, facing yourself...
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Porcelain
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Shades Of Fiction |