At the end of this life, at the end of this day Should I choose to go or should I choose to stay Was there really... Was there not another way? At the end of this life, of this day Empty feelings eat a me Consequential feelings of inadequecy At the end of this life, at the end of each day What's there left to do, what's there left to say? I'm caught up in an endless reverie of who I am compared to who I'll someday be and at the end of this life, at the end of this day Was there really not another way? What should I say I see Who is it that I should be At the end of this life, at the end of this day There isn't really much left to say.
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