Texty: Gold Kids. Postcards Are Scars.

In the name of freedom
I write these words
in the name of a rebel youth
I'll cry out for revenge

We were born against
and we're going to die that way
watching them with hate in your eyes

The glorious old days
have been washed away
like our names
in the shore's sand
but this black page
will remain with you
because these sentences
hurt just like guns

It was my turn to write
the letters e-n-d in stone
and throw it off a bridge