Loose change, a young pup on a chain,
Empty doorways with no name.
Nonconformity with a broken frame,
Youthful ingenuity looking all the same.
Those at a higher table sit and stare,
Scowling with every seething glare.
An epitaph placed and marked,
Doomsday blamed for some generational spark.
The fault is not ours for such a decay,
Look only at yourselves and your display.
To say I stand for nothing is a lie,
You just don’t want to hear the truth that will dethrone you from your perch in the sky.
Call me anything but a fraud,
Originality is my virtue, of which you should applaud.
Maybe thirty years from now I will share your view,
But, to be honest, I hate everything about you.
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