Like stranded but determined travelers we're learning to survive. We live by a set of rules that we devise. We walk among common people, but yet we operate in different ways, our methods aren't always recognised.
This world has not a place for us in its altars of glory. Nor do we rub our elbows with those basking in delights. Our brows are aged by sweat and strain, our eyes confess our crimes. We brandish scars of victory, stories of times gone-by.
We belong outside, 'cause we're free and alive, you know it, know it well. We belong outside, so don't you put your coat away... the storm is on its way.
Our restless spirits ramble on through mist and concrete paths. We're driven by adventure, passion and our lust for life. Our will is strong, our spirit live, our blood not cold nor blue, but boiling crimson like the sky of deepest summer dusk.
