Forget the loudest love songs we sang under your attic. They always felt too quiet. We should scream until the police shriek, "Hold it down." We'll tell them, "Yeah, alright." then bang the amplifiers. We're not violent. We're just some dumb kids getting wasted and knowing we're alive. There is anger, but it is just. It is power. The kids are still alright. We're just too high to fight. And it's brave to be polite and to wear fake leather. So, I carved your name in mine and I thought all about how we stumble around until gravity sleeps and you slip and fall into me.