The Kids Aren't Alright
de Thrice
We talk too much
We talk in circles
Till we're all spinning around
Reaching for rings on this merry-go-round
The scenery spins
We call it progress
But I've seen this all before
When all is said and done, we'll wake up on floor
We set sail
With no fixed star in sight
We drive by
Braille and candlelight
We're building towers
With no foundations
Just stacking stone on stone
Whatever it takes, mix our mortar with bones
True progress means
Matching the world to
The vision in our heads
But we always change the vision instead
We set sail
With no fixed star in sight
We drive by
Braille and candlelight
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