Lost Generation

Written by: Paul Knight-Kirby

We the victim's of incompetence 
We the pawns of vain experiments
Imprisoned by oligarchic, social engine.
Our pains, reflected by gluttonous pride.
Fermenting in black boil bubbling greed
Modern slavery in it's prime, glistening 
like polished diamond shine.
All pretentious, phoney entrapment,
lurking through time,  the ideal system, 
for a criminal eye, the perfect crook, 
filtered on a system it built, it impressed, 
and we undertook, now just mere 
puppets,
Upon the ladder of fingers,
The shadow composer casting the melody 
of subjugated illusion, laughing at ease, 
gazing upon their resolution.
A famine of needs and desires, tortured 
by the selected lot, who mock as we rot, 
in the mould around the bars of our cot. 
The misleading consequence of 
innocence, of ignorance, of vulnerability.
The digital web of deception, ripples in 
shuddered glee, it's next victim 
screaming, and then hushed silently 
among those chambers of conformity, an 
commodity given a number and then 
freed, for some years.
Next it's taught to adhere to the 
requirement of 'our' society,
Pushed through  any resistance,
Your ADD, labeled and branded for all to 
see, your defunct from a higher form, an 
acceptable sense of reality, the easier 
chores of slavery,
and less material distraction, an extra 
penalty.
In the sinister sweating perversion,
The passive exodus that moves in night 
and day excursions, fossiled in a lava of 
weary confusion.
We are the lost Generation on a path we 
cannot see, in a destiny that isn't you and 
isn't me.