Secession

Oh hell can't you see I've been tightrope walking on the edge of the precipice we dig while waiting for the world to change.

I guess I'm fine sometimes, with a thin pendulum in hands.

I guess I'm fine sometimes.

Advised to keep my head up straight, I still look at both my sides, for it's in camaraderie I seek for the future I haven't found on the curbs of ghost cities we built with our best excuses.

But if our memories ain't for sale we sure don't own the sceneries.

we'll put our names on boulevards, so they speak to us.

We'll burn all streets and cul-de-sacs, so they shine for us.

And I beg for help When I call your names.

The welcoming arms of fantasized allies.

It's a story I guess I tell myself when I'm at home, about the power of the number contradicting a silent phone.

I guess I'm fine sometimes with a thin pendulum in hands. I guess I'm fine sometimes, don't let me down until it ends.

In the precipice we fall, one by one.

Knee deep in the fear, the hate, the shame, the doubt, the pain.

And we spit at the help we are given, with condescension in return.

In the coldness of our hearts, we dance, we dance, On the soundtrack of a life that leaves a bitter taste.

Wandering around the blizzard, a coughing lighter in hand.

Hoping for an exit sign to shine anywhere above our heads.

We cry like the little kids we are Losing at a game we didn't want to play.

It's a future-eating machine and on our solitude and fears it sharpens billions of teeth.

Some things stay alive when we're enough to want it.

And solidary we shine, solidary we create.

And solidary we rise, and hand in hand we change. If we don't pick the music we'll just refuse to dance.

And if this world's way too sick we'll watch it die hand in hand, In a secession of colors.