No one came before them
The original gangsters
Took a leap of faith
Found nothing is fixed (perhaps)
Silent progression an its svelte curved finger
Starting our engines, we dived through the door
Roaring regression, salute of four fingers
Down is the price that we paid to stand up
Back to the bricks, carved in a niche
It never told us we’d have to buy shoes
Flashes of future opened a portal
A game made of blocking, where no one can lose
Born with our minds blown
We’ve sure kept our eyes on the prize
Even dumb, dark and pegged
We’ll still have our picture books
Our consciousness needs a hug and a kiss
Incinerate cyclic denial
Insinuate a means of escape and
Psychically break with your own form of exit