The street has a law. You don't choose it. It chooses you. Dust on my palms, iron on my tongue. We walk like this weight was meant for us — too young. The wind cuts through the yards, wires like black scars. I don't believe their words — I follow my own stars. Fists are clenched, pockets are thin. You can't buy us — we've always been. Red snow, red snow — on the tracks I leave! Nothing washes it away — it stays beneath my feet! We stand — while the line still burns! We stand — while the dream still turns! Wet light, hollow streets, footsteps in my fists. I stay silent — but the fear twists. And in my chest — not a fire, just a steady hum. Like something whispers: "Don't break. Don't come undone." Fists are clenched, pockets are thin. You can't buy us — we've always been. We are the ones who refuse to kneel! We are the ones who know what's real! They built their walls — we built our scars! We don't need their gods — we've got our own stars! "They said we were lost. They said we were nothing." "But the street is the only school that teaches without books." "And we're the best students they ever had." "Get up!" The law is written in the dust we breathe! The law is written in the fists we leave! We don't ask for permission — we just take the floor! When the system breaks, we're the ones who start the war! The street has a law. And it's written in dust.
