(or no capo and use as the chords) It's the demolition derby, it's the sport of the hunt Proud tribe in full war-dance, it's the slow smile that the bully gives the runt it's the force of inertia, it's the lack of constraint it's the children out playing in the rock garden all dolled-up in black hats and war paint Chorus: Sometimes it feels like bars of steel I cannot bend with my hands O-o-oh - I worry too much Somebody told me that I worry too much O-o-oh - I worry too much Somebody told me that I worry tooooo much It's these sandpaper eyes, it's the way they rub the luster from what is seen It's the way we tell ourselves that all these things are normal till we can't remember what we mean It's the flicker of our flames, it's the friction born of living It's the way we beat a hot retreat and heave our smoking guns into the river Chorus Hey yea-e-eh It's the quick-step march of history, the vanity of nations It's the way there'll be no muffled drums to mark the passage of my generation It's the children of my children, it's the lambs born in innocence It's wondering if the good I know will last to be seen by the eyes of the little ones Chorus