I lost the confidence to write a song,
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so i found three simple chords and I held them together with my weak voice on an out-of-tune guitar my father gave to me.
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May Elvis turn in his grave and Les Paul curse my dirty calloused fingers. May the likes of this song never make one fucking dollar,
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leave it for a demo tape to be played until it's broken
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then remembered only for what it was...
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that we gave 'em hell(repeated).
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To my friends and enemies who could have been anything,
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titans and heroes who found survival in cause and effect.
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Behind counters, behind windows, striving just to be people
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with bitter ideals of justice.
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Do we only need to keep working because it pays rent?
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Sleeping under plastic stars glued to a ceiling,
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muscles burning alcohol and nicotine every morning...
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but we gave them hell(repeated).
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There's a height beyond skyscrapers, there's a distance beyond the freeway.
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More than pictures in a magazine, more than tragedy in a rock and roll song.
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It's more than the actions you know it's safe to make,
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It's more than money could ever buy.
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Are we living to work and die in american cities,
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working to live and die in american cities, and dying for what we worked.
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-----------------
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What We Worked For
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Against Me! |