| You’ve got a lot of nerve and I’ve got a lot of fingers to point
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| While you were busy building knowledge I was already right
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| I know a voice like yours is not a weapon at all
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| And even mine is not a chisel for a thickened skull
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| So you can chant your anthems to the deaf
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| And we can sit here and cry until there’s nothing left
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| Or we can take our voices with our hands
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| Make like knives and make demands
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| We’ll take our voices — with our hands
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| Make like knives — we’ll make demands
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| I’m burning bridges for the last time
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| I’m breaking habits for the first time
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| I saw my future today, it said I’m going away
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| But I still haven’t sung the last line
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| On my way down.
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| I’m not ready to lay, not ready to fade
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| I’m not ready to die
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| And everyday of my life I can feel it getting harder to breathe
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| With every minute ticking by I’m getting ready to leave
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| I know a life like mine is not a reason to fret
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| But I’ve been busy making scars that you will never forget
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| If only thirty three years can save my life
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| I’ve had twenty three more to make things right
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| So when I’m taken to the sky and you’re still here
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| You can clear your mind and dry your tears
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| When I’m taken home — and you’re still here
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| Just clear your mind — dry your tears
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| I’m burning bridges for the last time
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| I’m breaking habits for the first time
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| I saw my future today, it said I’m going away
|
| But I still haven’t sung the last line.
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| On my way down.
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| I’m not ready to lay, not ready to fade
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| I’m not ready to die
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| When I’m taken home — and you’re still here
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| Just clear your mind — dry your tears
|
| We’ll take our voices — with our hands
|
| Make like knives — we’ll make demands
|
| I’m not ready to lay, not ready to fade
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| I’m not ready to die |