Wispy locks and velvet shadows over sadness. Broken swords and lying satin over madness. Spilt wine tainted by the mark of blood over broken wings. Dancing shoes and fallen crowns collapsing over crumbling kings. We are the youth and we shall rise. We are the new generation who will bring about our demise. We throw tantrums and deem ourselves the brats. We are the cats chasing the older rats. We cry when we lose and leave them confused. We cry and we claim that we've been abused. We lift our heads only to crumble again. Maybe it is because we love embracing this pain.