Clap along if your feet just found sunshine in the concrete,
bounce like the kick in your chest won’t stay caged;
let the blue sky borrow your smile, let the bass chase the clouds till they blush.
We’re glitter in the gearbox, spinning bad days into gold records,
every heartbeat a hi-hat, every laugh a flute in the neighborhood parade.
Can’t no gray talk black to a soul dressed in neon—
we’re the proof that joy is a DIY project: just press play, open mouth, release dove.