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Frame ghost, left perfume on pillow
Room without a halo
Losing my sleep
Almost on and off in echoes
Time is passing so slow
Dragging me deep
I can't make anything out of 'might've beens'
Will tomorrow bring all into light?
When you are near me
When you are here I see
All that I am made of
And all that I am
When you are near
Waylaid, television headache
Bursting into daybreak