| This city doesn’t know what’s coming
|
| She doesn’t feel the heat
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| This city won’t know what hit her
|
| What knocked her out into the streets
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| This city’s thinking that it’s over
|
| And she’s already fast asleep
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| So I’m breaking out of here tonight
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| I am ready!
|
| We’re given only what we need
|
| Only the chance to survive
|
| And even then, it’s a coin toss
|
| A roll of the dice
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| There’s gotta be something better
|
| Somewhere that feels more alive
|
| So I’m breaking out of here tonight
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| I’m breaking out of here
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| You’ve gotta feel it girl
|
| Feel the wind pick up
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| It feels like something’s gonna change (Something's gotta change)
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| But there’s no use putting it in drive
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| If all the wheels are stuck
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| There’s something wrong here (Something's wrong here)
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| Like this whole city wants to scream
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| But no one makes a sound
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| But, you’ve got to feel it, baby (Something's wrong here)
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| So I’m gonna find out what it is
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| And I’m gonna tear it down
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| Joe turned to a girl who’d been ignoring him all night, leaned in,
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| and whispered in her ear
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| The engine’s running, baby
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| We don’t have time for goodbyes
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| I know you can’t come with me
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| I see that look in your eyes
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| So kiss me fast
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| Cause there’s no time to lose
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| Leave the light on
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| I’ll come back for you
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| When everything is said and done
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| I swear I’m gonna make it right
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| I’m breaking out of here tonight
|
| I’m breaking out of here tonight
|
| I’m breaking out of here tonight
|
| I’m breaking out of here tonight
|
| Joe leaned in and stole a quick kiss from the girl. |
| She smiled and made a move
|
| to slap him but he was already out of reach. |
| He kicked the door open and tore
|
| out into the dark streets. |
| Fire in his blood. |
| He didn’t know exactly where he
|
| was going. |
| Only that he was moving. |
| And moving was something
|
| The slight breeze against his forehead meant that something was changing.
|
| He raised his voice, crying out against the quiet, constant hum of the city.
|
| From the windows high above the streets, a few concerned women called out to
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| him to keep his voice down. |
| For his own sake. |
| For all their safety
|
| I’m so tired of giving up
|
| I am so tired of giving in
|
| You wake up knowing things should change
|
| Not knowing where to begin
|
| This city won’t say where she’s going
|
| She won’t speak of where she’s been
|
| So I’m breaking out of here tonight…
|
| Break out
|
| Without noticing where he was heading, he’d reached his home — or his former
|
| home — his mother’s house. |
| She’d vanished three years ago. |
| He hadn’t been back
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| since. |
| His father had been gone now for nearly ten. |
| Heading around back,
|
| he made a straight line for a small workshop, set apart from the house
|
| His father’s motorbike was there. |
| A relic. |
| A gas engine bolted to an iron frame.
|
| He kicked the engine a few times and the bike roared to life. |
| As he turned
|
| onto the street and opened the throttle — the sound of combustion savaging the
|
| silence of the night air — he could almost make out the sound of the collective
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| gasp let out by the neighborhood. |
| He could almost imagine window after window
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| opening above the street line. |
| Frightened face after frightened face leaning
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| out into the bright glow of the streetlamps. |
| Timid voice after timid voice
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| telling him, speaking in unison
|
| A chorus of fear
|
| Ooh, don’t turn your back on the city
|
| Ooh, don’t turn your back on the city
|
| Ooh, don’t turn your back on the city
|
| Ooh, don’t turn your back on the city
|
| Joe ignored the voices. |
| He thought perhaps he was the only one who hadn’t
|
| turned his back. |
| He kicked the shifter
|
| Say a prayer for all the children still sleeping (Ooh, don’t turn your back on
|
| the city)
|
| 3rd gear
|
| Say a prayer for all the fathers who still remember (Ooh, don’t turn your back
|
| on the city)
|
| 4th
|
| Say a prayer for all the girls who’ve learned to stand up (Ooh, don’t turn your
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| back on the city)
|
| 5th
|
| Say a prayer for all the boys who won’t surrender
|
| Sometimes I just want to drive
|
| Until the streets run out
|
| I want to burn until there’s
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| Nothing left to burn about
|
| This city’s waiting for a better day
|
| When I get back there will be hell to pay
|
| If I’m the only one left standing
|
| I will not be afraid to fight
|
| So I’m breaking out of here tonight |
| I feel a fever coming on me
|
| Burning out of control
|
| And I hear nothing but the static (Nothing but the static)
|
| For years now there’s been nothing
|
| But the static on the radio
|
| If you can hear my voice outside these walls (If you can hear me)
|
| If you can hear me sending out this message tonight
|
| Then break the silence, send a signal back (If you can hear me)
|
| I’m coming, all I need is a little guiding light…
|
| …if you can hear me
|
| Don’t turn your back on the city
|
| If you can hear me
|
| Don’t turn your back on the city
|
| Then break the silence, send a signal back
|
| Don’t turn your back on the city
|
| Then break the silence, send a signal back
|
| I’m coming, all I need is a little guiding light
|
| Don’t turn your back on the city
|
| Don’t turn your back on the city
|
| I’m coming, all I need is a little guiding light
|
| If you can hear me
|
| If you can hear me
|
| If you can hear me
|
| Don’t turn your back on the city
|
| Store fronts gave way to warehouses
|
| Warehouses to abandoned factories
|
| Factories to the slums of the city
|
| He’d followed the line of the electric rail for almost an hour. |
| The outskirts.
|
| A place to which men now rarely ventured. |
| The dark streets flickered under
|
| failing street lamps. |
| Away from the machines. |
| Away from the people trying to
|
| keep him silent. |
| He should be feeling free. |
| He wasn’t. |
| He was feeling something
|
| else. |
| A wariness. |
| A hesitation. |
| Joe let off the throttle. |
| As his father’s bike
|
| slowed to a crawl, he understood that feeling he’d had ever since he’d decided
|
| to leave the city. |
| That hesitation he’d felt was the knowledge that he was
|
| being watched. |
| Watched when he kissed the girl at the bar goodbye.
|
| Watched when he left his mother’s house. |
| Watched even now… Miles from the
|
| heart of the city
|
| A face in the shadows…
|
| He stopped the bike in the middle of the street, silenced the engine,
|
| and lowered the kickstand. |
| There was no traffic. |
| No metal footsteps patrolling
|
| the streets. |
| But the familiar sound of the telescreens reached even here.
|
| Joe stood watching the face on the screen. |
| It babbled incessantly,
|
| but said nothing
|
| Over the sound of the screen, Joe heard footsteps, slow and deliberate,
|
| echoing from the darkness of the alleyway. |
| Kneeling down, Joe placed one hand
|
| on the street beside him, the other reached for the knife in his boot.
|
| He recalled the stories the children of the city loved to repeat about the
|
| red-eyed assassin. |
| «Light's Monster,» they called it. |
| The footsteps emerged
|
| from the darkness of the alley and into the uneven glow of the flickering
|
| street lights. |
| Joe stood, his hand loosening its grip on the knife
|
| It was a gray-haired man
|
| Joe was about to speak when the old man lifted a finger and pointed past him,
|
| into the darkness. |
| Joe turned to see a single red light pulsing from the
|
| depths of the alleyway behind him |