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And I drove all the way home listening to the Gaslight Anthem and thinking how I can't stop letting people down, cause I'm surely not as cool as I was back in school. 

I'm on the 101 falling asleep, I got the letters that you wrote for me. Now here I am under golden arches, car in park, teary eyed, Mcgriddle in hand. 

My mind is a slow device. I like to picture life somewhat like a Rockwell painting, but great expectations just blister the paint. And I just wanna drink chocolate milk with my lovely, I just wanna burn this apartment. I just wanna float through my life merely dreaming at any given mention of the government. 

So I drive, heavy eyed, repeating "tramps like us were born to run", but I've got no one to run with. 
And I'm cold, so I've been told that I should greet the sun and get shit done. I think I'd rather just sleep in. 

Cause we're all just twenty five words in the obituary section. And everyday is just the passing of time... I think they call this depression. I'm not lonely, just kinda overwhelmed again. Cause I'm living proof you can still sing the blues in 2015.

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