We’ve pulled ourselves together, but are haunted by the feeling it’s too late to really matter. Sun’s burning hot on our shoulders,
but at least we’ll die with a tan. We’ve made it this far,
It’s not the time for giving up the fight.
We hear the sounds, of walls collapsing.
We make the sounds, of a city that’s alive.
We build the walls, of lighted cities.
We leave without, our hearts on our sleeves.
Like living quarters, of sewer cleaners.
Singing True Believers, every day.
Like living quarters, passing change receivers.
Turning down deceivers, in every way.