a hundred clinched fists to the sky, up north
under a starry roof, to a rocking guitar riff, a messy bass solo
and a drunken drummer banging away while his head hangs low.
of course, the police are waiting outside, ready to come in through the front door,
and of course we all know that door around the back.
and while we kick our feet and swing our fists until 2am, the world is beautiful and it belongs to us,
and we are chanting,
"we are so young and we have no dreams,
we are so young and we have no dreams."
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