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A Song For Tim Browne To Sing

The Holy Mess

Watching wasted days pass
By most everything remains the same
Watch four friends in a basement craft another shitty refrain
By now we know these ain’t the four chords
That will make our lives
But if they harmonize they’ll get us out of town tonight
Don’t mistake this for complaining cause I’m satisfied

Another late-night session drunk friends backseats loaded van
Sometimes I wish that hundred miles home would never end
Lives flying by like all these years we’ve played on strings of gold
Let’s take this last one down a toast to never getting old
Don’t mistake this for complaining cause I’m satisfied

This song’s for all the friends
We had that never made it out alright
And don’t mistake this for complaining
Cause I’m satisfied
This song’s for all the friends
We had that never made it out alright

On the coldest mornings
We could take the pure things
Hold them to the embers
We could burn forever and ever
And ever
Don’t leave me
I keep trying
I keep trying to wait up
Don’t leave me






Mais tocadas

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