We’re on the run. This isn’t fun.
We’re six years out the door.
We’re so alone
on midnight streets, and fractured beats,
slaying villain fiends
They took our lives, our homes, our wives.
They tore our futures down.
Oh they burned!
But we strike back with clang and clack.
Those bastards will taste our wrath.
It’s their turn!
The fires glow. The wind, it blows.
We’ll greet their noise and drums
before they’re drawn.
We don’t fear death, the loss of breath,
and so we carry on
into the dawn.