Not the kind of music for subtitles and subtext-
An algamation of rage and love, an anthem for rejects-
For survivors and soldiers of a suburban geurilla war-
Gazing through the simulated scope like a Sniper Corps
Every time I need to write, this curse becomes an atom bomb-
These keys are cutting razors, shouting out our sword song-
Not quite the average label bound fashion faded basket case-
But what's left of the data when the dossier is erased-
Abased, a mix of dirt and blood in my face, shattered my bifocals-
Abused, confused, torn, fucked up and used, this is the shelter for the anti-socials-
In this wake we bury hope where our young innocence has died-
Bleeding through these stitches now, our nu era will arise.