| Time has taught us
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| That they’re sending out their sons
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| To take away our guns and our daughters
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| We are all cowards now
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| Rivers rising
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| Darkness fell upon
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| People blotting out the sun disguising
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| How we’re all cowards now
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| At least the Emperor Nero had an ear for music
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| But that’s history
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| Caligula said, «God's speed, my steed»
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| But that’s his story
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| They’re coming for our Peacemakers
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| Our Winchesters and Colts
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| The rattle of our Gatling Guns
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| Our best cowboy revolts and threats and insults
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| We’re all cowards now
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| The emptiness of arms
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| The openness of thighs
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| The pornography of bullets
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| And the promises and prizes can’t disguise
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| We are all cowards now
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| They’re draping stones with colours
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| And a roll of stolen names
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| Except those we never cared about
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| And those we need to blame
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| We’ll extinguish that flame, just the same
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| We are all cowards now
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| Arms are empty
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| The pornography of plenty
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| Count commands from one to ten
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| Number sins from ten to twenty
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| There’s an illusion we believe in
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| There is honour in their need
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| Pretty confetti, chemical debt
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| And a necessity to bleed
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| My fears too fleet to scupper
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| My prayers too thin to scream
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| On my lover’s back a zipper
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| On her limb a straightened seam
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| So, close the windows tightly
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| Lower lamps and shades
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| On the screen, silent rehearsals
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| For tomorrow’s parades
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| For tomorrow’s parades
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| For tomorrow’s parades
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| We are all cowards now |