| Here we sit
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| Across the table from each other
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| A thousand miles from both our mothers
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| Barely old enough to rust
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| Here we sit
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| Pretending both our hearts are anchors
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| Taking candy from these strangers
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| Amidst the diesel and the dust
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| And here we sit
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| Singing words nobody taught us
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| Drinking fire, and spitting sawdust
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| Trying to teach ourselves to breathe
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| We haven’t yet
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| But every chorus brings us closer
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| Every flyer and every poster
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| Gives a piece of what we need
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| And the sand that they call cocaine cost you twice as much as gold
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| You’d be better off to drink your coffee black
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| But I swear, the land it listened to the stories that we told
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| God bless the busted boat that brings us back
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| Morning’s rough
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| It don’t give a damn about the mission
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| Has no aesthetic or tradition
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| Only lessons never learned
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| And I’d had enough
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| About a month ago tomorrow
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| Parting holds no trace of sorrow
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| For the bitter and the burned
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| And the piss they call tequila even Waylon wouldn’t drink
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| Well I’d rather sip this Listerine I packed
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| But I swear, we’ve never seen a better place to sit and think
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| God bless the busted ship that brings us back
|
| And the sand that they call cocaine cost you twice as much as gold
|
| You’d be better off to drink your coffee black
|
| But I swear, the land it listened to the stories that we told
|
| God bless the busted boat that brings us back |