Overcast brings itself over the valley
Sand turns gray, reflecting the sky
We stood there, young, youthful, and ready to fight
While our enemies waited on the other side

Hands are thrown into the air
Making W’s and S’s
And then in one big rush
Our war begins

Fists start to fly
The watching children start to cry
Blood pours onto the blacktop
Then, a police siren signals truce

Blades are returned to pockets
Fists turn back into hands
Former rivals form a makeshift alliance
A speeding mob running from police

Some cut themselves jumping over fences
Others fail to leap over at all
And after all that bloody running
I looked around me; my best friend was not among all those panting gangsters
He instead lied dead, with a knife in his back, behind me