myself

Can someone tell me what I’m seeing?
It’s something lost, but still I’m reaching
Nothing left that could keep me hanging on
The only thing I miss is myself

Front line—my friends, they don’t give up
On me, when small things grab on and they try to weigh me down
But I reach to pull, ‘cause my life’s a grip
And that grip is what keeps hanging on

You said you needed a ride home
Front seat, three others in the back
Looked at you, asked if you were okay
Said yes, now we’re off on our way

Now turn, your head’s against the glass
Too much too late, you’re moving fast
Rolling, rolling the window down
Ride changed when we heard the sound

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