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lyrics

ghosts into the fire like the morning sunset that i've seen three times this week
something about a box of old collectables, a reason to stay skeptical
i wish i could go back to sleep
and dream about you and how it's going, how old habits are showing and hearing you complain about your mom
writing a diary entry, my hand is heavy, save a penny
for the mountain right by the mall

or maybe it's a fountain: the one that i've been running thru ever since the day that i turned 14
or maybe about ten, either way i don't remember anything that happened to me before last week
i even forgot your birthday
and your middle name

saving face from the people that stay placed in their place down broad street
it seems like every time that i'm alive after 9 before 5 they're always sitting in their chairs before me
feeling like some records in a shed, forgottten, broken, and bent that no one bothered to check
but i guess they didn't care but i'm not there; i can't judge them; that's not fair of me
all i can see is the color red when you're fallin asleep

and i will make this harder than it needs to be when it's done
i am stubborn and jealous and constantly searching for an outcome
i am afraid that the world will reject me when i find them
life gets harder every day but i just have to remind myself of all the good things that happen lately; both nightly and daily

credits

from Post Country, released April 8, 2019

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Quinn Cicala Atlanta, Georgia

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