Turn off all the lights and I'll lie here all alone, and think of something good I found,
A telephone, I'll wait for that ringer to sound, and when I hear that tone,
It's just my dad from out of town and he asked if it snowed here.
And I'm a little ghost because I die at the dead of day,
and you say ghosts can not be loved, they fill the room with dread,
tend to look down from above, and loathe that I am dead,
and sing of how they're dying doves and they cry in the basement.
I want to look you in the eyes and tell you that I'll grow up,
but know I never will, because look what's in the cup,
sitting on my windowsill, your eyes are just too much,
and here I lay from popping pills and dreaming of maples to swing from
Listening to pop punk and feeling like a piece of shit,
my life just ain't that bad, so how'd it come to this,
I don't know who what where when why made me sad but
I'm not gonna quit, and look again its just my dad, he asked if I'm up yet
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