We’re the digital degenerates, alone and apart,
Made of manufactured mantras, departed from ours,
But when flashlights and fireflies, are off and afar,
Bonfires burnt-out, pitch-black in backyards.
We’re the visionary vandals, reaching for art.
The moonlit astronauts, reaching for mars,
On our rooftop rebellion, reaching for stars,
Constellation are blankets, to cover our scars.
Lonely lovers, reaching for missing hearts,
Lost in the hoods of sweet sixteen cars,
We’re the midnight mass, in need of a new start,
Young, but already reaching to be dealt a new card.
We sneak out, to reach out, to who we really are.
Daydreams discontent, but we reach in the dark.