Up at the top
Hands in the air
Raising our glasses
In a silent cheer
To celebrate the things we've done
The resolutions we'll make,
The disruptions we caused
Shots fired in our wake.

Houses piled together
No room to breathe
Visions of death
Poison in our dreams.

There are the rebels and the gays
The fearsome and the rays
Of sunshine.
The thoughtful ones
The glass slippered girls
And the sneakerheads.
It isn't much
We aren't royalty
The most we can do
Is have the things we think we need
In our dreams.

Money can't be everything
But it sure seems
To be that way.
Instead of leading the way
We dig it up
No one walks on sidewalks
We all stay in the streets.

In the future
I hope instead
The streets will close at 10
And we'll all be in our beds.
Because if something happens
And we all go
Who will remember us when we're dead
If all we did
Was steal sneakers from weaker men
And spend spend spend?