"Summer 1995 / The kings of the cracks in the pavement."          

Do you remember the hot, wild summer of 1995? Those were dangerous days with Curty, Milo, the poodle mongrel and the rest of the cool gang. We didn't shave our armpits, but we smoked everywhere. The sun was always shining and the air was shimmering with us. Crossen was all the rage in photography. The color shifts were of course just as extreme as we were. We celebrated the contrasts, everything was light, unreal, burning at the edges. I can't believe Kurt Cobain had already been dead for over a year. And bigger than ever. What do we think when we look back on that time today? We were young. Undefeated. It still smells like teen spirit. We were the kings of the cracks in the pavement.

Lyrics of Kings of the cracks in the pavement.

Hot wire sunburn, scraped knees on the curb, Milo's bark echoing, Curty laughs every word.

Poodle dog trailing, smoke in the air, Sweat-stained shirts, and we didn’t even care.

Crossed eyes on film, colors bleeding wild, Everything burning, everything riled.

Faded posters, ripped at the seams, Grunge was gone, but we fed on the screams.

We were kings of the cracks in the pavement, Loud hearts beating in the basement.
Nothing could touch us, nothing could stay, Summer of '95, we burned it all away.
Crossed eyes on film, colors bleeding wild, Everything burning, everything riled.
Faded posters, ripped at the seams, Grunge was gone, but we fed on the screams.
We were kings of the cracks in the pavement, Loud hearts beating in the basement.
Nothing could touch us, nothing could stay, Summer of '95, we burned it all away.
Edges blurred in the heatwave glow, Every song we screamed, every scar we showed.
Now the reels are dust, but the smell's still there, Teenage ghosts in the thick summer air.
Now we’re softer, quieter, but still we crave, The sun, the smoke, the way we misbehaved.
In every faded frame, in every fray, Summer of '95, still smell it today.

It just burned in the head with glow.