| This is not the end.
|
| There’s no apocalypse.
|
| And all those kids, were full of it.
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| I got your hand in my hand.
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| No drinks inside.
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| It’s how we start a fire, with a natural high.
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| With hands in our pockets, this doesn’t have to be our last dance.
|
| With hands in our pockets, this world doesn’t have to end.
|
| No grand finale.
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| Hands in our pockets, we’ll march into the sun.
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| Hey, oh. |
| Hey, oh.
|
| When Monday comes, it’s ringing in your head.
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| And these battle drums, in a world that’s bent.
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| I got your hand in my hand.
|
| No drinks inside.
|
| It’s how we start a fire, with a natural high.
|
| With hands in our pockets, this doesn’t have to be our last dance.
|
| With hands in our pockets, this world doesn’t have to end.
|
| No grand finale.
|
| Hands in our pockets, we’ll march into the sun.
|
| (March into the sun, march into the sun, march into the sun…)
|
| With hands in our pockets, this doesn’t have to be our last dance.
|
| With hands in our pockets, this world doesn’t have to end.
|
| No grand finale.
|
| Hands in our pockets, we’ll march into the sun.
|
| With hands in our pockets, we’ll march into the sun.
|
| Hey, oh. |
| Hey, oh. |
| Hey, oh. |
| Hey, oh. |