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Thought Iâd write to you and let you know that Iâm still dramatic and sixteen
I thought Iâd call you and tell you that Iâm still miserable without you
I thought I could find you in the bottom of a plastic cup
But like we both knew, nothing ever helps the swelling inside our chests
Thereâs nothing left
So weâll visit our love like a long lost monument, forever forgotten
Part of me wonât finish this story
Iâm holding on but you wonât hold on for me
Forever alone
Poor me, poor me
Part of me wonât finish this story
Iâm holding on but you wonât hold on for me
Poor me, poor me
Now my letters have all been returned
And I sit around this fire and let them burn
Let them burn
Now my letters have all been returned
And I sit around this fire and let them burn
Let them burn
I canât sing this song any longer
And Iâm done with all this childish nonsense
I canât sing this song any longer
Iâm done with all this childish nonsense
- Album:
- Park Jefferson
- Weekdays
- Childhood