| We’re approaching the gloating
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| Of another dealer’s winning hand
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| The inspiring delusions
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| Living up to the dreams of modern man
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| And I swear we put our lives into everything, giving all we have
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| But we’re lacking the reaping,
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| slaughtering the weakest of society’s hard working calves
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| Trying to bring us down again
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| But we’re still having the times of our lives
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| What we’ve lost we’ll gain back again
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| The machine is tearing out our insides
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| We’re picking up all the pieces, all life’s thesis, that you’ve cast aside
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| Insuring our victory from mighty death’s harvesting clock of time
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| You’re breathing down the neck of all our selfish insecurities
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| Birthing the fate of the hate that’s been breeding all our perfect impurities
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| We’re climbing, still climbing this mountain that you’ve set before us
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| We’ll do whatever it takes not to make the mistakes,
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| but still this pressure’s killing us
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| We’re picking up all the pieces, all life’s thesis, that you’ve cast aside
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| Insuring our victory from mighty death’s harvesting clock of time
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| Only time will tell if this hard life meant anything
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| We’ll do whatever it takes not to make the mistakes,
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| but still this pressure’s killing us
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| If all we have still isn’t good enough, then what’s left to give?
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| Breaking apart the nothing that’s become our only incentive
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| So mark our words and build our graves
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| You’re the excuse for all of our mistakes
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| The very reason that we turned out this way
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| All the failure and all the heartache
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| Asking, pulling, taking all that’s left in our lives
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| The machine is tearing out our insides
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| So mark our words, and build our graves
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| You’re the excuse for all of our mistakes
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| The very reason that we turned out this way
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| All the failure and all the heartache
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| So mark our words, and build our graves
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| You’re the excuse for all of our mistakes |