The future won’t be owned by those,
married to ideals of old.
Consonant disruption dance,
amidst the ash, we take our chance.
We the gilded castaways,
we the future fairytales.
Stoking fire with simple sin,
marvel at our reconstruction.
Treat ourselves to sirens…
(We got it, we got the motion, we got the head-start.)
We got the motion, we got the head-start.
We got it, we got the motion...
