| And I, I’ve been lonely
|
| And I, I’ve been blind
|
| And I, I’ve learned nothing
|
| So my hands are firmly tied
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| To the sinking lead weight of failure
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| I’ve worked hard all my life
|
| Money slips through my hands
|
| My face in the mirror tells me
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| It’s no surprise that I am
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| Pushing the stone up the hill of failure
|
| And they tempt me with violence
|
| And they punish me with ideals
|
| And they crush me with an image of my life
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| That’s nothing but unreal
|
| Except on the goddamned slaveship of failure
|
| And I’ll drown here trying
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| To get up for some air
|
| But each time I think I breathe
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| I’m laid on with a double share
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| Of the punishing burden of failure
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| I don’t deserve to be down here
|
| But I’ll never leave
|
| And I, I’ve learned one thing
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| You can’t escape the beast
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| In the null and void pit of failure
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| When I get my hands on some money
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| I’ll kiss its green skin
|
| And I’ll ask its dirty face
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| «Where the hell have ya been?»
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| «I'm the fuel that fires the engines of failure»
|
| And I’ll be old and broken down
|
| And I’ll forget who and where I am
|
| I’ll be senile or forgotten
|
| But I’ll remember and understand
|
| You can bank your hard-earned money on failure
|
| I saw my father crying
|
| I saw my mother break her hand
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| On a wall that wouldn’t weep
|
| But that certainly held in
|
| The mechanical moans of a dying man who was a failure
|
| My back hurts me when I bend
|
| 'Cause I carry a load
|
| And my brain hurts like a knife-hole
|
| 'Cause I’ve yet to be shown
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| How to pull myself out from the sucking quicksand of failure
|
| Some people lie in Hell
|
| Many bastards succeed
|
| But I, I’ve learned nothing
|
| I can’t even elegantly bleed
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| Out the poison blood of failure |