Kids of December

Our sharp blade eyes cut like knives

We are the risky posterity seekers

Our bare dark brains buried alive

We are the delicate sensitive meekers

You may get us down

With your guns under perfect disguise

You may set us aside

But again from the dead we'll rise

Cause of the spark of our gaze

The might of our steps

The bold of our smile

The swing on our hips

The craze of our trips

The flash of our face