“I’ve got notebooks full of misshapen words I’ll never speak them anymore Ten years from now, you won’t know my name Throw the microphone down on the floor Put the guitar, guitar, one time Through the speaker, splintered, broken Throw the horns down, one time, horns down Smash them, break them, break up
See the flames begin to crawl, upward Taste the anguish as they fall, unheard Hear the record start to skip, unsung Feel the weight that sunk the ship, so young
The crowds recoil, demand our survival Fists in the air, mouths caked with saliva But you are the one, the spark that was spawned Who picks up the pieces, and passes it on”