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back to the real world, where you can trust no one
the sounds of your sneakers on broken glass
and the steady thump of fists on flesh and bone
make up the beat that is the soundtrack to our lives
the smell of pepper spray and bloody noses
and the scream of sirens and flashing lights
creating the ambiance

home is where the hurt is
it's where i hang my hat
i hear c'est la vie
and come what may
if you're looking
you can find me in the gutter
playing the games the broken kids play