out on the road, little boys let their beards grow
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oh, so busy talking about the things that we don't know
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all done worrying about the things we used to be
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(I'm too busy finding out what I'm gonna be)
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and finding weapons of mass destruction
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to combat this boredom that claws at my eyes, my ears!
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no longer can i worry about whether these words
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have touched you or failed you! fuck, you're too busy bitching about
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clothes that do not fit:
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"so play the violins."
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I'll keep getting in the van
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worrying about money for the rest of my life
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just so that you can have this to talk about.
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our time is to spend time with you,
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and if you don't want it well that's fine too...
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walk right out that door,
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this room was growing cold with you!
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this room that is my home!
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and I cannot
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and I must not
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and I will not
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let clean shaven boys that all look the same
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toss hand grenades into this, my faith!
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-----------------
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Some Came Running
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Bane |