Through The Flame

Ooooooooooooooh oooooh oooh

I was born in the static—raised by the hum

Of neon lies and a colorless sun

We wore silence like second skin

Taught not to fight—just to fit in

But I saw your spark in the broken street

Two fists clenched and two blistered feet

You looked at me like I already knew—

We don’t run. We rebuild through.

We’re fragments stitched in a rusted thread

Shouted down, told “dreams are dead”

But beneath the ache and under the strain

Is a voice that survives through blood and flame

I don’t need a throne or a flag to wave

I want truth in the way the fallen behave

We rise not to conquer—but to connect

Not to own the world, but to earn respect

We are the veins of the uprising

Not machines—not made for hiding

This is soul, not synthetic fire

This is pain that climbs higher and higher

No crowns, no kings, no plastic gods

Just voices sharp as broken rods

We burn for something real—not fake!

We carry each other through the flame

We are not mistakes of design

We are proof that pressure makes spine

One voice alone cracks like glass—

But together? We shatter the past.

We are the veins of the uprising

Not machines—not made for hiding

This is soul, not synthetic fire

This is pain that climbs higher and higher

No crowns, no kings, no plastic gods

Just hands held tight through the sabotage

We burn for something we can claim

We carry each other through the flame