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I havenât left the house in a hundred days
I saw you peek through the door
pry it open some more
you said itâs been a hundred years since we last spoke
you can feel for my pulse
if it proves Iâm not a ghost
most nights I try not to drink myself to sleep
convince the clock I still need more time to think
but every sip sip sipâs another tick tick tick
and Iâm not done yet, Iâve half a bottle left
and we can stay out late and hope to god itâs okay
and we can stay out late and hope to god itâs okay
and we can fall and still land on our feet weâre okay
and we can stay out late and hope to god itâs okay
I still tell myself
that I can tell the difference
rid the night of the dark, strip the light from the day
rid the night of the dark, strip the light from the day
but right here right now I know
I should just let it go
so tonight I dim off the lights and look up and
draw dumb pictures on the ceiling