the morning doesn't hold the same fascinationnas it once did in my naivetynbecause the ceiling above my bedroom belies the real situation:nthe crushing of the human spirit.nnthe greatest crime i can conceivenis the relegation of minds and hearts to the answering of the impending question:nto live or to die free?nnwe'll shake with the fear and hate of centuries...nnthere's a force inside of mensome kind of burning fevernthat makes me feel alive and beautiful;nthe creation inherent in destruction, the pulse of dissentnthe heartbeat of an ancient struggle.nnthere's a sickness in the airna final yearning clamour nlet's lynch the heros of distractionnand feel the fire course through our veins down to our fingertipsnand thus destroy your cities of gold.nnwe'll shake with the fear and hate of centuries...nnnI see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.nnso there we were,nthese two great hostile camps,nthe crackle of radio static between usnas the struggle changes from being state versus peoplento being creativity versus stagnation.nand would you believencould you imaginenthe spark in the air that made us all feel a hundred metres tall?nso we swayed to that incessant beat,na thousand hearts as one, ndancing in the morning sunshine nunder a shower of streamers and broken glass. nthe wall we dash ourselves on is blank perspex, nscratched with desperate fingernails, nand as that drummer raises his sticks for one last number ni realize i haven't seen a single naked pair of eyes along the whole damn line.nbut then i catch it,nthat glance of phyrric victory, nbecause you know the day is ours in the end. nso stop trying to hide it, ni've seen that look in your eyes.ni've seen itnnwe've only got just one chance to make this mark,nso we'd better make sure it's the best one.