This town is killing me, it's bringing out faces I don't care to see
Few think to go, and fewer ever leave
Even sleeping in gets old and even mountain air gets harder to breathe
And I begin to wonder, am I cut out for life?
I begin to wonder, if we ever really try
I begin to wonder, if I will wonder til I die
This home, it used to breathe, it used to be the source of all peace and relief
Few ever say, and fewer seem to see
That we are calloused and we're cold and we are growing old of life in front of a tv
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