| I wish we could’ve been there
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| I never could shed yesterday’s skin
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| When the «until next times» turn into «I may never see you agains» we vow to
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| remember that
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| It’ll always be more than a sound to us and we’ll hold close every word we said
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| It’s in the action and the first step you take when you walk off that plank
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| And you know that it’s over but it’s truly just beginning
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| It’s that conflicting feeling that strikes when you haven’t slept in days
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| And you’re left stumbling out of the van half-awake
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| Knowing an old familiar face will redeem that faith before morning steals us
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| away
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| Maybe (maybe) we walk off with dignity
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| Every fight outweighed by the belief in what this meant
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| Even if there’s nothing left of you and me here
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| It was for the kids who lost all faith in this life
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| And those who beat their heads against the wall
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| You can take the ideal to the world outside and we’ll kiss these rooms goodbye
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| As we tip our hats to half-mast flags and moments of silence
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| And farewell hugs on the steps outside will remind us of what we leave behind
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| We could still be a movement. |
| There’s so much more to say
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| We don’t have to die in Jackson’s shade before the crossing with this marrow of
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| doubt in our bones
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| Romanticizing the beliefs we thought we couldn’t hold as we grew older
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| Old man, can’t you see-
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| We all ache, we all need, we all mourn, we’re all losing
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| What is the same of me is the same of you
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| I’ll hold here |