[Verse 1]
The white lines are tracers for the facers of the aftermath
Positioned in the situation, lost in battles of love
Not returning, still learning
Unborn, unhatched

[Verse 2]
Yet, but wait: it's time to collide, decide, if you will
A purpose for the marchers in orange
And still a circus for the children in disguise
Throwing bones to the drug-sniffing dogs

[Outro]
Protecting what we've come to know as ours
For the colors we wear in our dreams
For the flags we fly in our films