From the recording ... & All His Boyish Charms


Who better than us know what it’s like to be lonely?
We got our freak flag flying so high, it might fly away
I know we all have a voice, but do we all have a say?
Tired of the haystack and of being the needle
Wanna set whole realms of fire with a hot ardent zeal
Apocalypse then, apocalypse now, apocalypse soon
It’s always happy hour some where, it’s always high noon
There’s a lot more of us here, than there are of you
In the margins of the alley, in the valley of the chosen few