Death Is Not Glamorous Invincible Summer
We'll make it out of the dead of winter,
despite all the things we f..ckin hate.
From broken homes left in the shadows.
Against the grain, we will escape.
Racing through the city streets,
pounding pavement with our feet.
Free from the world's crushing weight.
Far from beaten paths, won't resign to fate.
Not content with dying.
Not content with just surviving.
Spitting in the f..ckin face
of anything that slows our pace.
Flip every cross that crosses you.
Burn every church that casts it's shadow on you.
Their values never appealed to us.
Their rules do not apply to us.
Refuse to be complicit in
a verdict based on original sin.
Against anything that holds us back.
Out of step. O.C. wolfpack.
Make the most, where others merely make ends meet.
Letting go of all regrets.
Slow burn, slow death, like cigarettes.
Try to push that poison down our throats.
We'll bite back hard, so keep that smoke
out of the air that our lungs breathe,
out of the eyes we need to see
the future that we're racing forth to change.
Desperately, trying hard to stay
curious and with open minds to think for ourselves,
and redefine the lines
that keep us disconnected.
They keep our intents misdirected.
Make the most, where others merely make ends meet.
'In the midst of winter, I found there was,
within me, an invincible summer.' [ - Albert Camus]
And nothing can break our stride.
No world's weight can keep us tied down with doubt.
Not down with gods or masters.
Neither sleep nor slumber can overtake us.
We'll break down their weary world
before it breaks us.
This song is for every one of us.
