Everyone is always the same carbon copy of the last person.
Promises, promises that are nothing but hot air on a code red day.
All my cards have always been on the table.
I suppose then I can't wonder why I keep having to fold
into myself, while you hold out your stipulations
and offer to fix my feelings.
I'll see your World, and raise you half a glass.
Cheers to us...
or rather, cheers to you.
I can't tell if it's empty or full.
Neither can you.
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