Elliott Smith

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Here in line where stupid shit collides with dying shooting stars
All we got to show what we really are is the same kind of scars
And looking at you, all I see is you're waiting for something
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You're a murder mile
You idiot kid
Your arm's got a death in it
If you're choking up, take this paper cup, but there's a price you'll pay
For trying hard to become whatever they are, and saying whatever they say
So help yourself to this bitter pill
Or somebody else will
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You're a murder mile
You idiot kid
Your arm's got a death in it
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