Well there's a world full of empty hearts
Lost in this “life imitates pop art” culture,
Lost, just because it's all they know,
And it can be pretty hard,
When you were born in the basket of shopping cart,
To ever figure out that you're not aloneÂ…
And that's why the kids keep singing songs,
And that's why we're breaking all the barriers that 
keep us apart,
And for the shit talkers who “move on,”
Well, they may be gone but there's always us,
And the war we wage on settled dust...

Well we're fed up with ideas like what we want,
Is always held above our heads, out of reach,
And we've found we can create things,
That are tangible, if it's a band, or a new world,
These things they aren't so far,
accessible,
And reach those punks who've given up,
And say that they are through with it,
Well, if they knew these kids, well that'd make all the 
difference.
And the kids, you know we know better,
Than to have our paths blocked by abstractions,
We'll break the whole world down into fractions,
And keep them small.

And we know one day we'll look back to a time,
When possessions were regarded as a measure of status,
And status was a qualifier,
And that may be now but we're breaking it downÂ…
And we know one day we'll look back unto a time when,
We couldn't even figure how to talk to each other,
And we know it's complicatedÂ…
But we're working it outÂ…