Not Howl

There was once a mournful poet who lamented the madness plaguing his generation Infecting his whole world In a time when "going viral" meant something altogether different Hey ginsberg how about I do you one better The best minds of my generation have been destroyed by complacency Fattened, lethargic, arrogant Madness would be a blessing to us It would mean that we gave a **** But we've forgotten you, Allen I'm sorry to say it Kerouac went to Hollywood Frozen in the Stone of KStew's face Burroughs is lost to us When we say his name, the frightful echo: "Who?" How could we have done it? How can we look ourselves in the eye? We don't know how to Howl We'll never serve up a Naked Lunch Or run free On the Road No. Now we hide faceless behind digitized hatred Fattening up on our own opinions Leading armchair revolutions Now we're Anonymous Because our names mean nothing And our faces are all the same We fight fire with wet noodles Or we don't fight at all The best minds of my generation are stewed in the juices of apathy I'm with you in Rockland, old Allen I just wish you were still here with us