April 7, 2010
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"Tommorrow," he whispers, he mutters, he sighs
"Tommorrow," under his breath he lies.
"This is the last time," he says today
"This is the last time," he promised last night.
Just one more ciggerett turns to one more pack
Just one more high puts him in debt.
Standing back because there is nothing I can do
Standing back because he refuses to let me through.
Arms out, to catch him when he falls
Arms out, because I see him slipping.
He can say he's doing alright
He can say this is our last fight.
But I cant believe a word he says
But I have nothing to believe when he shuts me out.
"Get away!" he screams, he demands, he shouts
"Come here Ruhe," he beckons, he pleas, he pouts.
I can't read the mixed signels he is sending
I can't tell when he's real and when he's pretending.
How am I any different when I cling to the past?
How am I any different when I'm smoking the same pack?
"Tommorrow," I whisper, I mutter, I sigh
"Tommorrow," under my breath I lie.

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