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.
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