Our yesteryear

Youngster's fear, turned to dust

Just then. We discovered punk,

we dunked our souls

unlikely society trolls, we were individuals

residuals, no modern comparison

An Oliver's army garrison, we fought back

dressed in black, moved by the beat,

leather booted feet stomped the city.

what a pity, Johnny Rotten died

We cried, while out of reach

On Rockaway B...

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