| Song | Torches and Tragedies |
| Artist | Good Riddance |
| Album | My Republic |
| 作曲 : Pabich, Rankin | |
| Children who watch their fathers rise to work each day | |
| Becoming bitter as they piss their lives away | |
| Out of balance as he stumbles to the porch | |
| Too young to recognize the passing of the torch | |
| And so they cry (in fear) | |
| They wonder why (not here) | |
| The cycle punctuates an atmosphere of pain and lies | |
| It gets to where one never knows what to expect | |
| A bedtime story or a broken nose or neck | |
| They take it in and take it on | |
| Like they've been shown | |
| It goes on and on and | |
| Too many sterile homes without a thing to say | |
| A generation losing innocence this way and | |
| No recognition of the bridges as they burn | |
| Just repetition of behaviors they have learned | |
| And so they cry (in fear) | |
| They wonder why (not here) | |
| We tip the fragile scales of temperament and guilt | |
| Too soon mistaken for the will that makes us strong | |
| But looking back it's just the shame we pass along | |
| My dreams too often true | |
| I will never be the same as you | |
| Born dead to live a lie | |
| Shut down when | |
| I see you cry |
| zuò qǔ : Pabich, Rankin | |
| Children who watch their fathers rise to work each day | |
| Becoming bitter as they piss their lives away | |
| Out of balance as he stumbles to the porch | |
| Too young to recognize the passing of the torch | |
| And so they cry in fear | |
| They wonder why not here | |
| The cycle punctuates an atmosphere of pain and lies | |
| It gets to where one never knows what to expect | |
| A bedtime story or a broken nose or neck | |
| They take it in and take it on | |
| Like they' ve been shown | |
| It goes on and on and | |
| Too many sterile homes without a thing to say | |
| A generation losing innocence this way and | |
| No recognition of the bridges as they burn | |
| Just repetition of behaviors they have learned | |
| And so they cry in fear | |
| They wonder why not here | |
| We tip the fragile scales of temperament and guilt | |
| Too soon mistaken for the will that makes us strong | |
| But looking back it' s just the shame we pass along | |
| My dreams too often true | |
| I will never be the same as you | |
| Born dead to live a lie | |
| Shut down when | |
| I see you cry |