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You don’t need my blood to be my family. But there are fine lines between friends and strangers and people you’ll never meet. And you know that it all seems written out in time. Coincidences take comfort in the sheep’s clothing of a sign. And in the face of the skeptics we spit and ask the question “why?” Why do we do what we can to keep our names alive? Well pour me another one, but this time not so much. It wouldn’t take a crooked line to tell me I’ve had enough. And it wasn’t all that long ago that I held it to the light and saw through the surface at the watermark inside. And I need to get somewhere. I need to tell her she was right. My eyes and ears are failing me and I’m too drunk to drive. Well lately I’ve entertained the idea of a god, but I’ve just got bigger things to worry about than something I never saw. And you’ve got to admit that it doesn’t do any good to look past your senses at words misunderstood. And I’ve seen the damage done in a view from above. We’re holding everyone else back with our backwards views of love. Well my grandfather asked me once, “Would you serenade me a tune?” And I stared deep into his blind eyes and said, “I’m not ready to.” And that’s the last time I ever saw him, in spring of 2005. But I’ve been singing ever since and that’s how he stays alive.