^BmWelcome, my son, To where the w^Aork is never done And the h^F#ungry are seldom ever f^Ged.

The de^Bmpartment of false hope Is a pr^Aoving ground for dopes. And they'll gr^Dind your tiny bones to make their b^Ere^F#ad. (Hosanna.)

^GSo hold your h^Dead up high, forg^Aotten man. ^F# ^C# ^D ^GTomorrow w^Don't be made for y^Aou. ^F# ^C# ^D ^GAnd everybody's g^Dotta try to lend a h^Aelping hand. ^F# ^C# ^D For god and m^Gan, there's n^Aothing more to d^Do.

^BmIt crackled on the radio Through br^Aight plumes of the sun. The ann^F#ouncer said the age of faith was de^Gad. Though the ^Bmadolescent nation Was just l^Aooking for salvation, The be^Dast of reason reared its ugly ^Ehe^F#ad. (Hosanna.)

^GSo hold your he^Dad up high, forg^Aotten man. ^F# ^C# ^D ^GTomorrow's n^Dot for me and y^Aou. ^F# ^C# ^D ^GAnd everybody's g^Dotta try to lend a h^Aelping hand.^F# ^C# ^D For god and m^Gan, there's n^Aothing more to do^D.

Bm A F# G Bm A D E F#

From your cr^Gadle of destruction, With the p^Aoorest of instruction And the ^Bmmerest s^Aliver of a t^Gune, Oh, you m^F#anaged somehow to muddle through. ^C# ^D

^GSo hold your h^Dead up high, forg^Aotten man.^F# ^C# ^D ^GTomorrow's n^Dot for me and y^Aou. ^F# ^C# ^D ^GAnd everybody's g^Dotta try to lend a h^Aelping hand.^F# ^C# ^D For god and m^Gan, there's no^Athing more to do^D. ^Bm

^GThere is n^Aothing more...

Bad Religion - Dept of false hope