We were the orphans of suburban slums
Raised by retail clerks and food court bums
Our parents were away under fluorescent suns to give us what they never had
We were the children of the broken glass where the parking lots yield to yellow grass
We lodged our broomsticks in the pavement cracks and we flew our scarlet flags

And we wrapped rebellion's arms around our waists
And we held our hearts out for the world to taste
And injustice was meant for our hands to erase
And you know we had a lot of work to do

We are the siblings of an endless war, which our elders wage on distant shores
We whined and kicked and screamed upon the kitchen floor and we threatened to run away
We are the children of the hourglass; our ambitions fell like grains of sand
We waited for the echoes of our protest chants so we could hear our own decay

We sang through riot barricades
And our voices bled, they bled onto the tape
We can hear it when those records play
And we know it's the sound of our own decay
It's the sound of our decay
It's the sound of our decay
It's the sound of our decay

And we pulled rebellion's arms from round our waists
And we hid our hearts to shield them from disgrace
And injustice laughed aloud and rubbed it in our face
So you know we've got a lot of work to do
We've got a lot of work to do
We've got a lot of work to do
We've got a lot of work to do