In the
summers of our innocence,
we rode our skateboards,
hopped the fence,
fishing bowls and earthworms in a tent.
We were flying kites and skipping stones,
playing in the antigones.
We scraped up arms and knees and sunburned skin.
We built a treehouse,
we were young,
we didn't care if we got stung,
so we kept batting beehives
just for fun.
And with our walkie-talkies in our hand,
and codes no one could understand,
it was one
for all, and all for one.
And those summer nights we'd sneak outside,
our bottle rockets lit the skies,
our slingshot
aimed at lizards, birds and toads.
We were cowboys,
pirates,
musketeers,
and in our backpacks we would smuggle beers.
We jumped into the river with no clothes.
We were climbing walls in cut-off jeans,
and looked at dirty magazines,
at night wet dreams,
and blue balls in the sun.
So with bows and arrows in our hand,
and codes no one could understand,
it was one for all,
and all for one.
In
the summers of our innocence,
the world was small and still made sense,
but time flies and we just turned thirty-one.
By the time that you turn thirty-two, darkness
starts to follow you.
But we won't surrender like in that Springsteen song.
So with our
guitars in our hand,
and codes that no one understands,
it's the one for all,
and all for one.