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We are wild,
dancing under the light of
a pale blue moon.
Hello, Phoebe!
Do you believe
in the spirits of Old?

There's no need to think, just
shut up and dance like there's no tomorrow!
(There might not be,
you know we'll die young.)

They call us Iron Youth,
but we aren't!
Our sorrow has made us Old Men.
(We are not men either,
but it sounds 'cool'
so we laugh and we dance
as the men we are not)

And you can't look back because
this world is highly illogical
and I know that your smile's
an illusion.
That's okay, moonbeam.
Even fake smiles are gorgeous.
Just because they're yours.

Won't you sing with me, Phoebe?
Shut up your thoughts, just for a minute,
and dance with me like we're gonna die.

We're Iron Youth,
Old Souls.
So while I can,
may I have this dance?