drove up the coast
to set foot once again
in San Luis Obispo
took acid, played a digeridoo
felt like an ******* when
she gave me a present from Spain
and I left her book
hundreds of miles away
then drank and drank
jungle juice, Jameson
whatever was in the keg
bruised my legs
and maybe my heart a little too
because now that I'm
back in Long Beach
I don't know what to do
I feel so...empty
like I've been pouring myself out
since I left home
and the last drops
have been dashed
on the
sidewalk

The band starts playing at a ***** and crowded backyard.
Rebellious youth gather to cast their vote with the stomping of their doc martin boots.
Beer cans everywhere, everyone's trying to let loose the raw stranglehold their society has produced.
The guitars go off and the ritual begins.
First they assemble in the heart of the pit.
In the center individual tragedies bring fourth the wrath of a God's army.
Anarchy you call it, Ha! I call it reassurance, reassurance that this anger is surely communal.

I never saw it more clearer, the youth's power to resist: If the government wont hear us, we will create our own sound even under the batons of fascism, we spit on your rule, your control of our art.

We wont bow down to a law with our names written all over it, while another politician walks free from corruption.
While another officer guns down an un armed child and calls it self-defense.
While suspicious mass shootings continue to occur and mass cameras grow in recording.
While you send more people off to war for another countries resources.
These thoughts explode out of me into shoves, screams, ****** cuts, reckless behavior, and then finally release. Pure psychiatric release.

Parents shield young child eyes
As elders clutch their beating chests
These people look at us and think
"Punks"
"Burn-outs"
"Delinquents"
"Youths"

"Always causing trouble where ever
they go"
I'm not a bad kid, honestly,
I'm just playing your part