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forgive me children for i have sinned |
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i never asked you first |
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the way in which i wrote this song, |
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the pen which scribed the verse |
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i never stopped to think of you |
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each chord change, each refrain |
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was done so with you not in mind |
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the farthest from my brain |
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already gone and such a waste |
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will you please put me in my place? |
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it's not enough to just say the things you do |
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and i hate music because of you |
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being the conisourre you are, with all you listen to |
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you know exactly what we've done wrong and what we need to do |
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come to you before each note is ever written down |
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find out exactly what you want before we make a sound |
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already gone and such a waste |
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will you please put me in my place? |
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it's not enough to just say the things you do |
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and i hate music because of you |
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but i, in my arrogance |
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have gone my separate way |
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music is dead and so are we, and soon will come the day |
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when every single stupid song and everything online |
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will turn to dust, the moth, the rust, decay and wasted time |
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if i am honest, there's part of me that hopes it makes you sick |
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i hope you cannot stand to hear it, or bear the thought of it |
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i hope that tomorrow you'll curse our name |
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you'll drill it in the dirt |
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i hope you'll not come back to us |
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i hope it always hurts |
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but at Your feet i admit defeat |
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my work is now in Your hands |
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if they want to hear stupid music so very bad |
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they can start themselves a band |
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already gone and such a waste |
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will you please put me in my place? |
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it's not enough to just say the things you do |
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and i hate music because of you |