Drunken screams of glory outside of my window
Half-drunken thoughts of what’s it like out there and not inside my head
They get wild and wasted, wasting precious time but they feel every now and again
Tangled in my sheets, I conjure up thoughts of them that help me pretend to feel new
Because I don’t feel as much as I used to, and I don’t live as loud as I’m meant to
Not enough to tell the perfect story but I’ll keep on writing until I’ve found a little glory of my own
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