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NovemberGotta gotta gotta bit of a problem here,
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can't be fixed, can't be changed.
Well, I guess it could be worse.
Frosts under my feet,
I can't think about these people that I meet,
So many names and so many faces, so hard to keep straight.
Leaves crunch better when they're frozen, I slip a bit too easily,
Did I step too freely?
“Cause when I walk in they don't say hi, give me a dirty look and turn away, thoughtless.
Open-mouthed, lacking not the sense to question but the resolve.
Still I stand, hand-in-hand, wishing I could rest my head.
'it's a girl?'
'who is it?'
Feelin' low, but happy as can be,
well, I'm finally being me.
They don't like it?
Gotta gotta gotta get rid of my problem.
Need to need to need to find someone,
Hiding in the shadows next to me, right where I can't see.
Songs in my ear as I walk, nobody else can hear.
Would they listen, had they the choice?
Would it be the risk to take?
Or just another foolish mistake?
Songs speak a language nobody e