I can’t tell the difference The soap box or the stage It’s just like the process When wrestling became fake Genuine believers are shunted and sheltered Who will be remembered? When they fall and they die by submission
We sing the songs The songs, the songs of dead wrestlers My hope is gone It’s gone, it’s gone
Believing in something Can sometimes mean nothing Conviction can be tamed Why do you feel ashamed? Diluted and dumbed down The edit, the voice sound My tv, no volume I can’t hear, I just see the lips moving
We sing the songs The songs, the songs of dead wrestlers My hope is gone It’s gone, it’s gone on dead wrestlers We sing the songs The songs, the songs of dead wrestlers I don’t belong In songs in songs of dead wresters
We work hard We live hard We work hard We live hard
We sing the songs The songs, the songs of dead wrestlers My hope is gone It’s gone, it’s gone on dead wrestlers We sing the songs The songs, the songs of dead wrestlers I don’t belong In songs in songs of dead wresters
Your politics are pantomime Your punches miss me every time Maybe I’ll see you on the other side When we have nowhere left to hide
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Copy to Clipboard: I can’t tell the difference The soap box or the stage It’s just like the process When wrestling became fake Genuine believers are shunted and sheltered Who will be remembered? When they fall and they die by submission
We sing the songs The songs, the songs of dead wrestlers My hope is gone It’s gone, it’s gone
Believing in something Can sometimes mean nothing Conviction can be tamed Why do you feel ashamed? Diluted and dumbed down The edit, the voice sound My tv, no volume I can’t hear, I just see the lips moving
We sing the songs The songs, the songs of dead wrestlers My hope is gone It’s gone, it’s gone on dead wrestlers We sing the songs The songs, the songs of dead wrestlers I don’t belong In songs in songs of dead wresters
We work hard We live hard We work hard We live hard
We sing the songs The songs, the songs of dead wrestlers My hope is gone It’s gone, it’s gone on dead wrestlers We sing the songs The songs, the songs of dead wrestlers I don’t belong In songs in songs of dead wresters
Your politics are pantomime Your punches miss me every time Maybe I’ll see you on the other side When we have nowhere left to hide
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