| It’s hard,
|
| hard, not to sit on your hands,
|
| burrow your head in the sand,
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| hard, not to make other plans
|
| and claim that you’ve done all you can,
|
| all alone
|
| and life
|
| must go on.
|
| It’s hard,
|
| hard, to stand up for what’s right
|
| and bring home the bacon each night,
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| hard, not to break down and cry,
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| when every ideal that you tried
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| has been wrong.
|
| But you must
|
| carry on.
|
| It’s hard,
|
| but you know it’s worth the fight,
|
| cause you know you’ve got the truth on your side,
|
| when the accusations fly.
|
| Hold tight!
|
| Don’t be afraid of what they’ll say.
|
| Who cares what cowards think? |
| Anyway,
|
| They will understand some day,
|
| some day.
|
| It’s hard,
|
| hard, when you’re here all alone
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| and everyone else’s gone home.
|
| Harder to know right from wrong
|
| when all objectivity’s gone
|
| and it’s gone.
|
| But you still
|
| carry on.
|
| ‘cause you,
|
| you are the only one left
|
| and you’ve got to clean up this mess.
|
| You know you’ll end up like the rest
|
| Bitter and twisted — unless
|
| you stay strong
|
| And you
|
| carry on.
|
| It’s hard,
|
| but you know it’s worth the fight,
|
| cause you know you’ve got the truth on your side,
|
| when the accusations fly.
|
| Hold tight!
|
| Don’t be afraid of what they’ll say.
|
| Who cares what cowards think? |
| Anyway,
|
| They will understand some day,
|
| some day. |