The white lines are tracers For the facers of the aftermath Positioned in the situation Lost in battles of love Not returning, still learning Unborn, unhatched
Yet, but wait! It's time to collide Decide, if you will, a purpose For the marchers in orange And still a circus for the children in disguise Throwing bones to the drug-sniffing dogs Protecting what we've come to know as ours For the colors we wear in our dreams For the flags we fly in our filmsTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
