To Brighten our Eyes and push us through
As if our Senses are going to Fail if not Used
To entertain us with dramatic sounds and views.
Constantly we search for the next Perfect Trend
To teach us how to dress, listen and represent
In a plight to be more scene at the next event
It’s truly only the songs that I understand.
Constantly we Float On with our Paper Wings
And Rise Against the scrutiny of everyday living.
I suppose that’s one way to keep breathing
The Scum Lungs of summer need cleansing.
Constantly we try to create Glory Nights
Star struck, drunk evenings absent of tears and fights
But we can’t Take Back Sunday’s pathetic tries
To make sense of love without liquor and wine.
Constantly we grow until We Are the City
Underground or in fields pining to escape reality
A coalition of friends and lovers longing for musicality
To awaken Sleepyheads and test fading vitality.
But, it’s ultimately in our hands
To stop being constant and make amends.
We’re all Underoath to our friends.
To Love and Be Loved and never offend.