Lyrics

was I left behind?
Someone tell me, tell me I survived.
Don't look so surprised that I'm home, but just for tonight.
With rough hands and sore eyes
so don't speak, I am tired.
Let's just live through this lie.

She says I swear too much,
she says a lot of things,
well I'd swear every other word if I could
for her I'll make an attempt.
Sometimes love isn't about how much someone suits you
but how much you're willing to change to suit them.

All my bones are dust,
(Two people too damaged too much too late)
and my heart's sealed with rust.
(Two people too damaged too much too late)
These hands will always be rough.
(Two people too damaged too much too late)
I know this won't count for much.
(Two people too damaged too much too late)

One day my hands were too soft,
one day she said, "I'm tired".
one day her clothes were on my floor,
one day, empty bottles.

Well I'm not saying she's my last.
I'm just saying that she could have been,
it doesn't matter how rough these hands get.
It doesn't matter cause I'm not her man.

All my bones are dust, (rough hands, rough days)
(Two people too damaged too much too late)
and my heart's sealed with rust. (rough hands, rough season)
(Two people too damaged too much too late)
These hands will always be rough. (rough hands, rough days)
(Two people too damaged too much too late)
I know this won't count for much. (rough hands, rough season)
(Two people too damaged too much too late)

Say that again...
A white woman was driving down a lonely road through the Cherokee rez when she saw a Cherokee woman walking along the roadside. She pulled over and offered her a lift. The Cherokee woman nodded and got in the passenger side. They rode in silence for a few miles when the white woman noticed the Cherokee woman slipping glances to a bottle of whiskey on the seat beside them. Not wanting her to get the wrong idea, the white woman says, "Oh, I got that for my husband." The Cherokee woman nods, looks back to the road and quietly says, "Good Trade"

As soon as your born they make you feel small,
By giving you no time instead of it all,
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all,
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school,
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool,
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules,
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years,
Then they expect you to pick a career,
When you can't really function you're so full of fear,
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV,
And you think you're so clever and classless and free,
But you're still fucking peasents as far as I can see,
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
There's room at the top they are telling you still,
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill,
If you want to be like the folks on the hill,
A working class hero is something to be.
A working class hero is something to be.
If you want to be a hero well just follow me,
If you want to be a hero well just follow me.