| Was it what you’d expected then?
|
| We’re rebels now without a soul
|
| Selling songs to the naked, in the songs of a dead poet
|
| We scatter the road
|
| This time can you take it?
|
| Cause it feels like Im racing the world and Im second best
|
| But its not my call if I crash and burn like the rest
|
| So I’ll write it down before it gets old
|
| Time’s breaking a promise, and my words will let the truth be told
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| My life’s sinking faster now and I’m wasted, in the songs of a dead poet
|
| We scatter the road
|
| This time can you take it?
|
| Cause it feels like I’m racing the world and I’m second best
|
| But its not my call if I crash and burn like the rest
|
| And the story gets old
|
| And the story gets old
|
| Walk into my life and point me to my own
|
| And the story gets old, and the story gets old
|
| Walk into my life and point me to it
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| If only a song were deep enough to be my last words
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| Sleep
|
| We scatter the road
|
| This time can you take it?
|
| Cause it feels like I’m racing the world and I’m second best
|
| But its not my call if I crash and burn like the rest
|
| And the story gets old, and the story gets old
|
| Can someone point me to my home (Come point me to my own)
|
| In the songs of a dead poet |