Take your rebel yell.
Take it somewhere else.
Go on a protest march.
Like when they burned all their draft cards.
Fighting over the news.
Its a silly thing to do.
They just pulling your chain.
For the money, for the story, for the fame.
At the end of the night.
When the sun shows its light.
Everything seems fair.
Low clouds early, by noon they'll clear.
Even if we pout about.
If our love ends up in shouts.
Our time is ticking away.
The seconds, minutes, hours, and days.
Yes, let the rebels yell.
Just yell somewhere else.
No more noise pollution.
No more self righteous illusions.