In the heart of the punk scene,
Where neon lights and shadows gleam,
A story unfolds with no screen.
It's a tale of DIY dreams.

The warehouse walls, they're paper thin,
Echoes of laughter, echoes of sin.
Here we plot, here we begin,
With nothing but our will to win.

We've got flyers, Xeroxed tight,
Handbills for gigs that don't have lights.
"See us," the words scream out in white,
"We'll show you how to fight."

But there's a price to pay for fame,
A cost of borrowed time and pain.
You see, someone has to take the blame
When everything starts to disclaim.

The purity spirals tear at hearts,
Leaving shards where once was art.
We're not gods, we just do our part,
But sometimes it feels like too much apart.

So here's a song for all who burn,
For those who bleed and still learn.
In the chaos of the night we yearn
To find the spark that lights us right.

[Chorus]
DIY nightmares in neon,
We dream of what could be shown.
With every step, with every scene,
We carve out a new dawn, alone.

The volunteer debt piles high,
Rides to court, supplies dry.
Bail math crunches close at eye,
When the system's got us by.

But we keep going, we keep shining,
Through the cracks and through the lining.
For when all else fades and flies,
We'll still be here, in our own guise.

[Outro]
So if you're looking for a sign,
Here it is, with no design.
In this world of neon and line,
We carve out what's truly divine.

-- CINDER
"diy doesn't mean disorganized."
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