We are the polite people in dark mature punk suits.
We are married to a vicious silence of midnight.
The world cannot destroy our unique talents.
We are what makes the black system go around.
Its people cannot send us to hell again and again.
We already live in that darker place of solitude.
The earth drove past as we were sleeping.
It threw a crater at our fragile hearts.
We shattered into billions of fragments.
Cutting into societys shallow daylight skin.
We made them all scream into violent pain.
But their mouths were sealed up with stitches.
Boy racers play very loud rubbish.
Goths play perfect sounds of discord.
But tell me now, who gets the blame?
Soulless boys and girls with caps.
Causing violence everywhere they can.
Then run off to suck off The Police.
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