| Callous fingers from your strings
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| Trying to make the guitar sing
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| And once again release the joy it brings
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| But even with the old notes played
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| The strings are rusted and slightly frayed
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| So I can’t get it sounding quite the same
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| When you get caught in what they want
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| It’s hard to remember who you are
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| A wild heart kept in the dark
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| A tired hand that’s fumbling for the door
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| Kept the branches dry from rain
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| But you brought matches and propane
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| And now the air in here could light a flame
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| Why so set on being right
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| All your words braced for the fight
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| But there are so many ways to see the light
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| When you get caught in what they want
|
| It’s hard to remember who you are
|
| A wild heart kept in the dark
|
| A tired hand that’s fumbling for the door
|
| When you get caught in what they want
|
| It’s hard to remember who you are
|
| A wild heart that’s kept too long in the dark
|
| A tired hand that’s fumbling for the door
|
| (The door is not locked, open it up)
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| When you get caught in what they want
|
| It’s hard to remember who you are |
| A wild heart left in the dark
|
| But the light can no longer be ignored |