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The Narrative
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Waiting Room
Waiting in line passing the time reading four-month-old magazines. The pale walls given life by the florescent lights exposing stains in the carpeting
And sitting at my side this mockery of life a plastic plant strictly for tasteless decor No one makes a sound but the sirens seeping through the space between the door and the floor
Well there's nothing left to say the words just collapse into colorful waves in the spectrum of sound and it's easy on the ears and it's nice to hear but it doesn't mean a thing No, it doesn't mean a thing
The silence breaks like a small earthquake shattering the calm it's my name And the familiar scent of sterile instruments filters out from inside the hallway
Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com Your chin falls towards your lap you know you can't come back just one more thing to make this a little bit harder You'll wait for the turn out until then a sense of doubt hangs in the air like grief in a funeral parlor
Where there's nothing left to say the words just collapse into colorful waves in the spectrum of sound and it's easy on the ears and it's nice to hear but it doesn't mean a thing No it doesn't mean No it doesn't mean No it doesn't mean a thing
So tell me I'm okay with no areas of gray Tell me I can go just don't say you don't know because there's nothing I can't take like these areas of gray so tell me I'm okay
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