The Last Young Renegade

Long live the reckless and the brave
I don’t think I want to be saved
My song has not been sung
And long live the fast times, so come what may
I don’t think that I’ll ever be saved, I know
Our song has not been sung, long live us…

~*~

The first time strikes

Like a fatal blow

As the anarchic trite

Is a puerile glow

Passing fickle crimes

Consenting none

Pioneers of renegade

Bring out the sun

Youth and the world

War of a reckless

Glamour and talking

In tongue feckless

Long live brave fools

Mayday, they say

Profound, old school

Friction burn day

Trapped in suburbia

Caught on tarmac

Trainers worn-down

And hoodies black

The nights to arrange

Fast times dignity

Run out from normal

And old modesty

Tread black-top lines

Of spastic change

Spontaneous fervour

Could be arranged

But if rebels surmount

Punctual refugees

Restrained and recede

Scant probabilities

An unforgiving planet

Looks are deceiving

They’ll take the crown

But you’re winning

And the last time strikes

Descending in storms

And this juvenile chaos

Is worth fighting for.

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