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Exits

Sandia Chuang

Pacing through the same dead streets in my head

Counting exits that never led anywhere

Oh
There's this thing that crawls back home with me
Sits on my ribs when I try to sleep
And I keep asking
Was I holding on?

Oh
You ran your finger over my scars
Trying to figure out if I'm still alive

Oh
Trying to find a way out