| Trust me when I say, that I understand
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| That believing in nothin', is a lead heavy hand
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| That at the fade of the water, is often the sand
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| That maybe all we’re doin’s for nothin'
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| But you pace down the hallway with nothin' to say
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| And the chords all feel empty when you sit down to play
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| So you stand in the doorway and wait for a change
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| Wish that every piece was for somethin'
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| But if nothing is sacred
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| And nothing is lost
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| And I’m in your corner
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| Whatever the cost
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| If the fists that are flyin', are keepin' you down
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| Then we’ll fight a little harder, and find another way around
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| But still the traces of you, seem to lie spread appart
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| The engine won’t turn and the furnace won’t spark
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| Conversations of futures, resign to the dark
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| Feels like all that you built may just crumble
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| Bu I know that I see, in your eyes there’s a space
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| To salvage the moments, all neatly erased
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| To finally hold on to, the feelins' you chase
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| To learn how to sprint to a stumble
|
| But if nothing is sacred
|
| And nothing is lost
|
| And I’m in your corner
|
| Whatever the cost
|
| If the fists that are flyin', are keepin' you down
|
| Then we’ll fight a little harder, and find another way…
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| If the fists that are flyin', are keepin' you down
|
| Then we’ll fight a little harder, and find another way around |