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No more tears and my heart is dry. I don’t laugh and I don’t cry. I don’t think about you all the time but when I do –I wonder why. You have to go out of my door and leave just like you did before. I know I said that I was sure but rich men can’t imagine poor.
One day baby, we’ll be old. Oh baby, we’ll be old; think of all the stories that we could have told.
Little me and little you kept doing all the things they do; they never really think it through like I can never think you’re true. Here I go again: the blame, the guilt, the pain, the hurt, the shame. The founding fathers of our plane that’s stuck in heavy clouds of rain.
One day baby, we’ll be old. Oh baby, we’ll be old and think of all the stories that we could have told.
Asaf Avidan “Reckoning Song”

(Source: gloomyteens)

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