"What We Worked For"



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.



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



That we gave them hell

That we gave them hell

That we gave them hell



To my friends and enemies who could of been anything,

Titans and heroes who found sruvival 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?

Sleeping under plastic stars glued to ceiling,

Muscles burning alcohol and nicotine

Every morning.



But we gave them hell

But we gave them hell

But we gave them hell



But we gave them hell

But we gave them hell

But we gave them hell



There's a height beyond skyscrapers,

There's a distance beyond the freeway,

More than pictures in a magazine,

More than tragedy in a rock and roll song.

It's more than actions you know are safe to make.

It's more than money could ever buy.



Are we working to live and die in American cities?

Living to work and die in American cities,

And dying for what we worked.