Broken clocks and empty streets,
Memories of nights we’ve wasted,
Shattered dreams and dirty sheets,
In the shadows, all but jaded.
Lost in the noise, but we don’t care,
Riding the waves of our despair.
We’re the echoes of our youth,
An echo of “Rage, rage against the dying of the light” from Dylan Thomas’s “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night.”
,
Soon enough we’ll face the truth,
But tonight, we ignite.
Mortgage bills and kids’ screamin’,
Nine-to-five ’til death do us part,
Aching backs, hairline receding,
Fighting to keep a beating heart.
Lost in the grind, but we stand tall,
Clinging to dreams, through it all.