We run around in circles
|
Like chickens without a head,
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Social inhibition
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Is something quickly shed,
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Everyone's the same
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When you're slamming in the pit,
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Never need to worry
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How you're going to fit.
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You're the one that suffers
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When you stand and stare,
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Out there I am no one
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And in here no one cares.
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My ears are humming
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'Cause the music's loud,
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As I take a leap
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Over the crowd,
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The floor is swelling
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With a sweaty throng,
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This is where I belong.
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As the world worsens
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In its misery,
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I need to find release
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Of this pent-up energy.
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What a better way
|
Than in a crowded hall?
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It's hockey without a puck,
|
It's rugby without a ball,
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It's time to rub some elbows
|
It's time to fellowship.
|
It's time to fuel the flame of life
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That Jesus Christ has lit.
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What's in is out,
|
Non-conformity
|
Has been established.
|
It's punk this,
|
It's punk that,
|
I don't need you to tell
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Me what is punk,
|
I'm doing my own thing.
|
Packed-in sardines
|
In a body swamp,
|
Some will want to skank,
|
Some will want to stomp.
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The pogo's still in style
|
With those in the old school,
|
Down with hate and violence
|
Is the only rule,
|
You say that punk is dead,
|
You say that it is gone,
|
Maybe you gave up
|
Maybe you're just wrong.
|
|
-----------------
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Vent
|
Crashdog |