| tHE nOThiNg geNeRAtiOn... |
| too much sex, drugs, drink and rock 'n' roll. body free and mind not in control. religion of those without a soul; only prayer of the spiritually cold. social skills of the etiquette deprived. anti-faith and scared to be alive. fate of those who are sure they were born to die. only answer to the question 'why?' every night he takes his dose of pain. wash it down with a line of crack cocaine. when day breaks he's sure he's gone insane. better though than the cause that calls his name. she lights up in a park on the edge of town. vodka rivers down as her tears are drowned. she recalls how she screamed as they held her down. now she hides in the dark; doesn't make a sound. they were scared long ago, but now that's through: they don't care 'bout the stupid things they do. tried it all; now they're looking for something new. a new cure for the morning-after blues. headache days that blur in a daze of waste. bitter hearts and a similar kind of taste. sugar-sweet in a melancholy place. pass the joint as a smile spreads across his face. lost in time; there's no way they're growing old: all they want is to die young and ever-cold. seek control, piece by piece, as your soul is sold. forgetting all the stupid lies they've told. he had a gift but it never came around. could have been a teen dream, living off the sound. on his back, staring up at the dizzy clouds. wants to leave, but it seems he's been glued down. she struggles to give up, and to rear her child. ten years on and the youth still smoke their smiles. been exposed and now her path grows wild. to the world, she's a number on a file. where's the hope when she never had a chance? cild born of a powder-blue romance. out of faith; you can tell with a single glance. staring out at the world in a coma-trance. too much sex, drugs, drink and rock 'n' roll. body free and mind not in control. religion of those without a soul; only prayer of the spiritually cold. social skills of the etiquette deprived. anti-faith and scared to be alive. fate of those who are sure they were born to die. only answer to the question 'why?' every night he takes his dose of pain. wash it down with a line of crack cocaine. when day breaks he's sure he's gone insane. better though than the cause that calls his name. she lights up in a park on the edge of town. vodka rivers down as her tears are drowned. she recalls how she screamed as they held her down. now she hides in the dark; doesn't make a sound. we are the nothing generation. we are the nothing generation. we are the nothing generation. we are the nothing generation. |
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