Bright Young Things

Riding up their faces down

Bright young things wade through town

Starved souls come to life

With greased up lips and starstruck smiles

See the creature on the prowl

Pushing through the sea-foam crow

Bedridden femme fatales

Lining up to follow them around

I have caught this city

It won't let me go

Archives of wasted times

In hazy states and drunken minds

Hung beauty on the walls

Who risk the world to bare it all

Gloss writers stuck for say

Ask why it has to be that way

Stare at their nascent lines

And wonder why they lack for rhyme

Our sick generation

Is our festival

Stop to watch the sun sink down

Beneath a line of manmade clouds

Rode through the flood zone mire

With broken lights and one good tire

Racing up the temple hill

Took a blessing for a cheap thrill

Disposed it for a laugh

Post it to a Facebook photograph

And I love this city

It's a spectacle

A laugh a minute

Raised to avoid the lie

Never learning how or why

Taught to defend that right

But never knowing what to fight

The schooling we'd forget

Chained is to a world of debt

Waste paint on what we feel

Without the art to make it real

But we love this city

We won't let it go

And we are this city

I watched the sun sink down

Beneath the line of manmade clouds

I watched the undead rise

And walk the streets in search of life

I've seen you back away

Talking to yourself for days

I've seen you sifting through

A trumped up list of what life did to you

And I thought you'd make it

But you let go

Let yourself go crazy

Archives of wasted times

In hazy states and drunken minds

The schooling we'd forget

Chained us to a world of debt

Gloss writers stuck for say

Ask why it has to be that way

Waste words on what they feel

Without the pain to make it real

And I thought you'd make it

But you let go

Let yourself go crazy

Your festival

Sick generation

A spectacle

How I love this city

It won't let me go