typeracer

When we were young the future was so bright (whoa), the old neighborhood was so alive (whoa) and every kid on the whole damn street (whoa) was gonna make it big and not be beat. Now the neighborhood's cracked and torn (whoa). The kids are grown up but their lives are worn (whoa). How can one little street swallow so many lives? Chances blown. Nothing's free. Longing for. What used to be. Still it's hard. Hard to see. Fragile lives. Shattered dreams.