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Weatherstate – Ghost lyrics
Making no sense of it all, Like the poison that runs through these walls
Watch my body break down at the thought of your call
Make me feel like I'm nothing at all
It’s nice to know you cared, But that won't ever get me anywhere
And I care more about the times, When I was young enough to feel
Though it gets hard enough, I just don't feel like giving up without you here
Just Killing Time, and I’ll play it over every night and I will never get this right
Will you try, to sever all the empty ties beneath my sorry state of mind
I'll wait around to watch you keep on holding on, while you torture me and tell me that I'm wrong
It's nice to know you cared, But that shit won't ever get me anywhere
Just Killing Time, and I'll play it over every night and I will never get this right
Will you try, to sever all the empty ties beneath my sorry state of mind
Beneath my sorry state of mind
Send my condolences to God, cause I'm already dead
And I would probably settle down but I'm stuck in my head
I’m just a mirror of a Ghost sometimes
Born a Cynic, not a saint, and I will go down swinging
Watch my body break down at the thought of your call
Make me feel like I'm nothing at all
It’s nice to know you cared, But that won't ever get me anywhere
And I care more about the times, When I was young enough to feel
Though it gets hard enough, I just don't feel like giving up without you here
Just Killing Time, and I’ll play it over every night and I will never get this right
Will you try, to sever all the empty ties beneath my sorry state of mind
I'll wait around to watch you keep on holding on, while you torture me and tell me that I'm wrong
It's nice to know you cared, But that shit won't ever get me anywhere
Just Killing Time, and I'll play it over every night and I will never get this right
Will you try, to sever all the empty ties beneath my sorry state of mind
Beneath my sorry state of mind
Send my condolences to God, cause I'm already dead
And I would probably settle down but I'm stuck in my head
I’m just a mirror of a Ghost sometimes
Born a Cynic, not a saint, and I will go down swinging
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