| I’ll sing what I want, sing what I feel
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| Because that’s what’s most real
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| I want whichever you put in front of my eyes
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| Only what I can see and breathe in
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| As long as it don’t scratch against my lungs
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| Oh, gloved hands to cement we’re bound to lament
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| Until our fingers bleed and all our nails rip off
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| Oh, but our little toes have been known to go
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| Walking down harlot’s streets
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| Don’t we know that we were made miracles?
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| Don’t we know that we were made
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| To keep our hands clean and our shoulders back?
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| Alright
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| I dug these words up from a well, set 'em on a shelf
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| For every time that I’ve got something smart to say
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| Sank like a ship into the sea was born upon the reef
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| It’s at the end of myself that I’m made new again
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| Don’t we know that we were made miracles?
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| Don’t we know that we were made
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| To keep our hands clean and our shoulders back?
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| Father of mine
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| I know I’m not really making You proud
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| We’ve all been lonely fruit with filthy branches
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| Looking down at the ground
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| We tell 'im «Oh, it’s alright
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| Come to my room, meet all my demands!»
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| But then like morning light the verdict’s out
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| And truth walks in
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| I didn’t die for you to live like this
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| I didn’t die for you to live like this
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| I didn’t die for you to live like this
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| Oh, I died for you to love!
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| Don’t we know that we were made miracles?
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| Don’t we know that were made to keep our hands clean
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| And our shoulders back?
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| Don’t you know that your body is a temple?
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| So how bout you make, how bout you make a little room for me?
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| Oh how bout you make, how bout you make a little room for me?
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| Oh how bout you make, how bout you make a little room for me?
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| How bout you make, how bout you make a little room for me |