| Behold the youth, come down the pipe
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| All worked up, all spent up, all faces turned up
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| Overdone
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| I never met a traitor I didn’t like
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| Never criticized a turncoat written off in spite
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| Caught up on robbing Peter to pay Paul
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| Obsessively stabbing Achilles to kill it all
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| Jump on board and feel what I’ve confessed
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| The small bus is leaving and will never be blessed
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| Pissed up the same flagpole once too many times
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| Blood on my shoes makes light of death and we mock the crime
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| Behold the youth. |
| Sad again
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| Hair all fucked, with black eyes but untouched
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| Behold my own part. |
| Unaware of where we start
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| But you’ve given up on giving back, and frankly I miss your heart
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| But I could care less, I behold their resources
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| They get so far, and cause so much stress
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| Behold our turncoat revolution that’s doomed
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| Step one, a step undone
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| Behold our lifelong manifesto of failure assumed |