Nodding off at Partridge in the corner of the room.
Suddenly, the whole world comes into view,
Push through the crowd.
The longer you listen, the sweeter it sounds.
What's wrong with singing?
A song born of my soul
We believe the words we know,
Hum along the one's we don't.
These are the chords, these are the chords
The chords that scar our throats.
Who knows where we'll be tomorrow?
Who know when the pain will end?
We've got the scars to show we'll be here tomorrow
We've got the scars to show that the pain does end.
