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What We Worked For
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Lost the confidence to write a song So I found three simple chords and held them together with my weak voice On an out of tune guitar my father gave to me And may Elvis turn in his grave And Les Paul kiss my dirty, calloused fingers And may the likes of this song never make one fucking dollar Leave it for a demo tape to be played until it's broken, then remembered only for what it was That we gave them hell That we gave them hell That we gave them hell To my friends and enemies who could have been anything Titans and heroes who found survival in cause and effect Behind counters, behind windows, striving just to be people With bitter ideals of justice Do we only need to keep working because it pays rent?



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