See, we don’t really care who you are, We’ve kinda got this non-exclusive policy of determining exactly, Who we open up to and let into our family, And then who becomes a part of our united mass of harmony. And that’s kind of become the thesis to this song, Through suffering, acceptance, grief, and strife, There’s no way that your puzzle piece fits into our puzzle wrong, ‘cause everyone is welcome on this stage that we call life. And we don’t really care who you are, Everyone is capable of looking up and wishing on a star. So catch, so contagious, this day-dreamer’s disease, And hope can be your sword, slaying darkness with belief. And we don’t really care who you are, Regardless of how lost you are returning from, regardless of how far. So bring me all the worst of your broken, bruised, insane. Because that’s the thing with music: when it hits, you feel no pain. No matter what you did, I promise we forgave it, When all that’s left is your voice, you’ve got no choice but to raise it. All you broken hearts, all you dejected dreams, Put your hands in the air, and let me hear you scream. - sstm.
“They pulled me out by the stethoscope, white coat and all as I was telling them I have a patient in there. One girl has a heart condition and wasn’t feeling well. They manhandled her and threw her on the ground.”—
Occupy Wall Street medic PAUL KOSTORA, on being forced to leave Zuccotti Park by the NYPD.
The police don’t care about you and your God-damned healthcare.