| The shows we watched when we were kids
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| Jetsons' spacecars, Apollo ships
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| That we could shrink the world to fit
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| The big dreams of broken kids
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| That someday, skyways, speedtrains and flying cars
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| Would keep us safe from the fools we are;
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| Genetics and bionics could
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| Make this place a bit more honest;
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| That we would know we stayed good on the promise
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| That love was a war worth fighting
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| And that someday the war would end
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| The distance, and the moral conflict
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| Of living far from how we wanted
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| The arc of our lives was something we could bend
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| I wrapped my hopes in everything ahead
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| But in the backseat of somebody else’s car
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| There would be a price for having gone this far:
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| That we could live with broken hearts
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| We couldn’t stand to see the pieces laying so far apart
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| We finally climbed the steel high rise
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| To see the world we’d left behind
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| That the years would be so unkind to us
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| We’d shy away in horror at what we’d done
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| That good intentions just weren’t enough
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| That all these years spent fighting
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| And still we’re only here
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| Still without peace, still without cure
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| Still without peace, still without cure
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| Still without peace, still without cure
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| For Loneliness
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| For Hatred
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| Depression
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| And Regret:
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| The memory of you that I cannot forget
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| ‘Cause it’s in my skin like the sutures:
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| These past ideas of the future |