The Firework Revolution

So here we are again, the revolution.
Today: it's the day after.
When the thrill wore off.
And left behind a bitter taste of laughter.
The streets are empty, just us from the ceiling to the coast.
It's like we’re the last ones alive.
Though that’s not something to boast.
"You wanted something real" you said. Something worth the fight.
But what do you do when the morning steals the night?
We burned it all, lit up every place we knew.
Now it’s quiet, and there’s nothing for us, nothing left to do.
Our fireworks are spent, the embers cooling down.
Once blazing in the dark, now ash on your carpet, on your floor.
It’s funny how fast we all burned out.
Now we’re left wondering, what was it?
What was it all about?
And in that cold, dim light, I see what we’ve become: two empty bodies, caught up in some off brand channel rerun.
Like your house: a distant place, far away and out of reach, yet still faintly familiar in feeling.
Like a record played backwards.
I guess we played it like a movie, every line, every stare.
Thinking someone out there might actually care.
It’s funny, isn’t it? The mess that we’ve made, fulfilling our pleasure in the back of the parade.
We're nothing but reruns and rehases now.
But I know, I just know, we'll cling to the thrill.
Like something so out there could ever be real.
Well, I want it to, I want to feel.
Maybe tomorrow we’ll build it all back up.
Or maybe we’ll just walk away, leave it in the dust.
You ask me what’s next, but I don’t know, you don't have a clue.
We’re still standing, just about, but I don’t know who’s who.
So we turn our backs on the ruin we made.
Head for the dawn, for whatever awaits.
The day after the day after, maybe that’s all we’ll find.
Just two bodies walking.
Our one spark left behind.