The moon is laughing to the beat,
Of our shoes pounding on the street,
As we flee the scene,
Of your mockery,
How does it feel to?
Get the shit kicked out of you?
Twenty years from now..
Remember my face in that scar.
When your parents pick you up,
At the hospital grounds,
Your wounds in gowns,
Your tongue is sound asleep.
But you won’t speak of all of,
Your bruised skin.
How is your broken nose?
All your tattered clothes.
The shoe prints on your back.
Or would you rather?
All my friends gather,
We can take this to the street again.
For you,
And all your friends,
We’ll bring them back.
We’ll bring violence