listening to a conor oberst interview, feeling a thirst
thinking of you, about to burst with the misery
and sorrow of no longer having you in my tomorrow
is not something i look forward to anymore
like the end of a chapter, like the closing of a door
you are no longer in my life anymore
it’s my fault. i lost my shit and did things that you’ll never forget
it’s all my fault. i cut you open then poured in the salt
now i’m here with the drugs, and the liquor made of malt
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