The faux graffiti that gave it a look of urbanism,
The square buildings with an unnatural amount of portals
Leading out to certainity,
The common average teenager,
Absolutely sure of the belief,
The belief that they were individual,
That they weren’t part of another mass,
The same everywheres,
The same angers, the same fear, the same destructions,
Too much drink? Too much belief,
In the true individual,
When all you are is another clone,
Manufactured by MTV, designed by Apple,
Bought by you.
The sheer belief, the faith in the spirit of the self,
A higher power would’ve scoffed at them,
And extended a hand, a hand to relieve them,
Give them a reason, give them a simple truth,
Anything to take away their ennui.
Mr. Hippie, when all you really are,
Another product of misguided idiocy,
Masquerading as a higher intelligence,
Laziness is not a way to lead your life,
The state cannot provide for those,
Who should be providing for themselves.
Take a look at the smiles,
They are particularly truthful,
Coming from babies, they hide nothing,
Coming from the teenagers, they tell of their fears, their angst, their sexual frustrations,
Coming from adults, they tell you the truth:
How rare it is to actually find the truth.
I prefer a sack of loaves to tell my story,
The sack of loaves,
Sitting next to me,
Giving off a scent of sambal,
Heh, I bet He didn’t get it that good,
And I am grateful for living in a lack of lacking.
I should stop wanting so much,
For it obscures the fact that I have more than enough,
And find little else wanting.