| 'You', another tired second-person address,
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| Words written hastily and under duress
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| Im cold and holed up in the back of the van, devoid of eloquence or elegant plan
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| And Im paranoid, and I can’t help but think,
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| That somewhere someone is listening in But all the words that I kept in my pockets, jotted down on supermarket
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| receipts,
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| At base turned out to be solid masonry
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| And Im scared of the kids who come to our shows,
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| And scared of the words that they seem to know,
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| Because in truth all my high ideals are in ruins, in truth I don’t really know
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| what Im doing
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| Growing out of these clothes turned out to mean losing certainty
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| So sing, 'your' voices level the land,
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| My Jericho,
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| My rock and sure foundation!
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| Every love that made me lose my reasoning,
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| Every line that made my conscience ache,
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| Every day spent counting hours well, none of them come close
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| To singing back a song inside my head
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| I always had a song inside my head
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| And yes, there are times when I am tired and stressed,
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| When I am hasty and Im under duress
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| Im a narcissist and Im not at my best I have to say Im not impressed
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| Of all the things that I believed in my teens, Im left with unread books and
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| badly made zines
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| Some might-have-beens that somehow even yet
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| Bring a spring to my step
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| I remember calloused hands and paint-stained jeans,
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| And I remember safe-as-houses self-belief
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| So sing 'your' voices are sure destruction,
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| My rock and sure foundation
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| And every line that made me lose my reasoning,
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| Every chord that made my conscience ache,
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| Every sound a memory that’s all I ever need
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| I always have a song inside my head |