Punk Rock in the Wrong Hands
Page Ninety Nine
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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.
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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.