Those Anarcho Punks Are Mysterious

We're all presidents,
 We're all congressmen,
 We're all cops
 In waiting.
 We're the workers of the world.
 There is the elite and the dispossessed
 And it's only about survival,
 Who has skill to play the game
 For all it's worth,
 Reaching out for a scary kind of perfection.
 Let's try to keep
 As much emotion out of this
 As possible.
 Let's try not to remember any names.
 We'll do it for our country,
 For our people,
 For a moral vision.
 United, we'll make them remember
 Our history,
 Or how we like to be told...
 How we like to be told,
 And we rock,
 Because it's us against them.
 We found our own reasons to sing,
 And it's so much less confusing
 When lines are drawn like that,
 When people are either consumers or revolutionaries,
 Enemies or friends hanging on the fringes
 Of the cogs in the system.
 It's just about knowing where everyone stands.
 All of a sudden,
 People start talking about guns,
 Talking like they're going to war
 'Cause they found something to die for.
 Start taking back what they stole;
 Sure beats every other option,
 But does it make a difference how we get it?
 Well, do you really fucking get it?