Punk Rock in the Wrong Hands
by Page Ninetynine· from Document #8
I am a prisoner in a war full of idiots.
The stomping feet of waltzing hypocrites pave the way of a brave tomorrow, choke the throat of passion and sorrow. Kill my drifting breeze of thought, I have been captured, I have been caught. I am a prisoner in a war of scowls, coughing youth from it's bowels, I am doing fine, I am feeling well, deep inside my dark well cell.