Lost Generation

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.