Hearts stamp to the beat
of the droning tune on the ballroom floor

bodies twirl in the black light
spirits always on high

guttural tones of bands unknown
fill your ears till they bleed

this punk wasteland you sit
neither high nor drunk

you wonder why you are here

slam your palm to the floor
and stand up

open the exit and free yourself
the depression of life

inhale the air
no longer stagnant

fresh full of life
to a liter tune

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