Well, you're feeling like a man, now?
Oh, that's good.
We've come to fuck some shit up in your neighborhood.
It's all too good to last, and it wouldn't if it could,
to fight a constant battle in a war misunderstood.
You've been runnin', runnin', runnin'
just so you can feel somethin'
but I'd rather it be nothin'
than a funeral parade.
And I might sound crazy,
just a little bit too hazy,
but I'll be putting daisies on this dumpster grave.
You don't know us.
These streets are lined
with all these ghosts
from a different time.
And his echo, it is in mine.
We rock, we roll, and say goodbye.
From 21 to 30, I won't be waking early.
I'll be sleeping off this sense of growing ill
until we're free, until we're free, when there's more you than me,
until we chip ourselves down into the earth, into the mills.
I won't be the first, and I won't be the last, on a stage built for souls to have their say.
I'll be fighting with feathers in this ungodly weather until the ink dries up and fades away.
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