My family, they used to sit me down
and tell me stories of those who rebelled back then.
And I ain’t no communist, not any furry,
but it’s been a while since I was ten.
The stories have stopped,
swapped for stricter rules of what i should opt for.
My father used to be a musician,
and it was his childhood dream.
But he retired from it once he turned what must have been fifty-five years.
He forgot the gleam,
the shine of hope.
And maybe it’s just naiveté,
but I believe there’s more to life
than just unpaid debt.