This is the final countdown.
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The hands on the clock.
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Become the hands upon your throat.
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Take a hard look at your time card.
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Add up all the hours.
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The weeks, the months and years.
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Think of all the time that you¡¯ve sold away.
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Of all the smiles, laughter and passion.
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You¡¯ve left behind.
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One of many, you file into the lines.
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Your hopes and dreams diminished.
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Is it worth what you¡¯re being given?
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Can all the moments torn away ever be replaced?
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Is the one life you¡¯ve been given.
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All going to waste?
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Success is meaningless if you¡¯ve sold your soul to accomplish it.
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All the money in the world won¡¯t be able to lift this weight from your chest.
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This is the final countdown.
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The hands on the clock.
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Become the hands upon your throat.
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Neckties are like the subtle noose.
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Hanging from the gallows.
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Swaying in the winds of progress.
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A lifetime of subservience.
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Swept away by this
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hurricane of deception.
|
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One of many, you file into the lines.
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Your hopes and dreams diminished.
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Is it worth what you¡¯re being given?
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Can all the moments torn away ever be replaced?
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Is the one life you¡¯ve been given.
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All going to waste?
|
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The hands on the clock.
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Are the hands on your throat
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-----------------
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Death Of A Salesman
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If Hope Dies |