We're out here on the borders with our favourite few possessions. Traded stories whispered round the fire. As shadows in the searchlights, mugshots in the files.
We are not children any more. The fists you made they are come bashing at your door. Your legacy is waiting in the wings. And there's something so familiar in the hunger that we bring.
Today, as you listen to this song. Another 394,000 children were born into this world. They break like waves of hunger and desire upon these eroded shores.