One hundred years of progress, one hundred years backwards.    People pushing blindly, pushing over all of us.    Forever teen, they want us buried.    Wanting our spirits dead, wanting all hope lost, wanting all of our dreams broken, the beat is being made.    What is it we're marching towards?    Why don't we rest our feet?    Or look what lies below the cliff when hope is being bought so that our thoughts can be cued up when our days become busy while our hearts are getting built up?