I think I left myself back in Rhode Island
I think I left myself that day
I think I left myself alone to wither
I'm not sure i'm not alright
I'm not sure i'm not deranged
I think I left myself back there in Brooklyn
Oh my god, I wish I died in the Bronx
And I left myself in too much isolation,
was too introverted to prefer much anything else, you see
I create by myself
I create my days away
I think split my thoughts up into voices
It's either that, or i'm talking to something else
and they always carry different forms of reason
so why do i listen to what hurts and ignore the ones who help?
I think I left myself back in Rhode Island
I think I left myself in those days
Since then i've chipped away my soul, now I am just flesh and bones
I'm not sure what i'm becoming, but i'm learning what i'm not
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