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The Fine Art Of Making It Out Alive

Kiss me on the forhead angel

Before I go to sleep

I can't remember if its Thursday or December

I've been keeping track of days by counting hangovers

And the bottles on my floor

My mangled memory is making me mistake misfortune for forgivness

I don't think I'll make it out alive

So promise me that you'll survive to bury meJust empty all the alcohol

And chronicle the chemicals

But don't forget the cigarettes

Remember every emberAlright, I admit that past few months were broken and abused

Now I'm used to the bleeding and unspoken words that kept me so confused

Maybe we can get past these addictions

But the bodies piling up are a whole other story

Unless your stomach's strong enough(2x)Maybe we can get past these addictions

But the bodies piling upSo promise me that you'll survive to bury meHell, maybe we can just pretend

That this recovery wont depend on moderation

And in the end the same routine won'e leave me dead(2x)

Just empty all the alcohol...or baby we're deadTomorrow we'll wake up in time to stop this double suicide

Through kisses laced with cyanide

ANd one last look through bloodshot eyesI guess this is what they call killing yourself in small dose(2x)

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