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From A Distance


electsub

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Every generation
Blames the one before
And all of their frustrations
Come beating on your door

I know that I'm a prisoner to all my father held so dear
I know that I'm a hostage, to all his hopes and fears
I just wish I could have told him in the living years

Crumpled bits of paper
Filled with imperfect thought
Stilted conversations
I'm afraid that's all we've got

 

 

The Living Years

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