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
 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?
 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
 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 living to work and die in American cities?
 And working to live and die in American cities?
 And dying for what we worked