calling all kids to the new location.nna ringside seat to the saddest sight in town.nncausing a commotion around the radio again but this time the beat is something vaguely familiar...nnnnthey made you an exile and now they crack a sheepish smile because they want in on the secret sound, nnbut you're gonna' keep it -hold it to your breast, nnbecause the last time they addressed you was a note that said,nnyou're gonna' get it at recess.nnnnwe knew this birth was an ambush but we came out anyway.nnto face the shinkicks as we face each new day.nnso spin another anthem mr. dj please...nnsomething they can call their song.nnnnas they beat each other blue on the dancefloor we'll be sure to sing along.nnnow i know it's better to get even than get angry,nnbut best of all to simply carry on.nnnnand all the scorn of the adored won't be enough to crush this wound up,nnpent up, bent out of shape love song.nncall it resolution, not some kind of fucked-up revenge.nnnnselect and circumspect and unrelentingnnand this bulemic culture is out to steal the goods but getting nothing.nnand their arms won't hold you now.nneven the score.