| Single file lines born by design
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| With a brass ring so deceiving
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| Chipped away to a status cult
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| Where indifference breeds control
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| And then with time comes «toe the line»
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| Cherish this pride made numb from feeling
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| The we have denial
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| «It's all in my head»
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| Will we do anything for bread?
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| If anything we’ve ever said
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| Means nothing now than it never did
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| Believe me
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| This isn’t what we want
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| This isn’t what we need
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| This is what we can afford
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| Where once there was a pat on the back
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| Is now just a crack of the whip
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| Where once there was a celebrated coming of age
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| Is just a uniform that doesn’t fit
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| Witness this most common breed
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| Whittled down to property
|
| And keep on singin'
|
| «It's all in my head»
|
| Will we do anything for bread?
|
| If anything we’ve ever said
|
| Means nothing now than it never did
|
| Believe me
|
| This isn’t what we want
|
| This isn’t what we need
|
| This is what we can afford
|
| Where once there was a pat on the back
|
| Is now just a crack of the whip
|
| Where once there was a celebrated coming of age
|
| Is just a uniform that doesn’t fit
|
| Witness this most common breed
|
| Whittled down to property
|
| And keep on singin'
|
| «It's all in my head»
|
| Celebrate this sorry state
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| With anecdotes of what you hate
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| And try to take comfort in the fact
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| That you’re not alone
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| This isn’t you
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| It’s just what you do
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| Don’t mistake the irony of calling it a «living»
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| If you feel like no one
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| If you feel like nothing
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| You’ve only been taking what they’re giving |