Fight, you've got to fight.
Give it all you've got.
You've got to fight, you might just fall.
Let this fill your thoughts.
Give the oxygen masks to the children in black.
Tell them to have their fun.
Blind them with your magic tricks.
But never blind them like the sun.
Never fail to amaze.
It's your job to hold the habit.
Your pedestal holds the strength.
Oh every single bit of it.
You feed the discontented mouths with every single sound.
You're the voice of the voiceless no doubt.
Feed them words, feed them truth.
Give them the words to shout.
The chalk outlines fill the streets.
The kids fill the army.
Seven nations could never cease.
The things that those kids tell me.
They want it all.
They're tired of the wait.
Impatience would be a silly thing.
To use as their bait.
Look at them, they're so proud.
They feel they've done it all.
They live to fight, and fight to live.
But they'll never live to fall.
The kids in black love the thrill of attack.
They love to watch it unfold.
They sit back, relax, and watch the destruction.
They never do as they're told.
"Slave to the Grind, Slave to the Grind!"
They'll never have enough.
Those kids in black, with their oxygen masks.
Are the up-most kind of tough.
Their courage reaches beyond our borders.
It overpowers mankind.
Oxygen-masked kids in black shout:
"Slave to the Grind! Slave to the Grind!"