Generation

The Baby Boomers gotta go
Gotta get out gotta get
Runnin.
Can’t stay here no more
On this planet there ain’t room for the both
of us.

Sometimes I withdraw
From the world which suckles my
fear like ravished (ravenous?) babe on supple breast.
So deep in thought
Not having thoughts
But living them
Swimming in the them
Entangling every inch becoming the introspective spiderweb

Room full of anarchists
black jackets cigarette smoke
all starin at the ground
tracin' checkerboard tiles with dilated pupils
feedin hungry retina,
dreamin their big dreams of
the revolution
but there’s no energy in the air left
for raised fists
only the sloth hum of beat down refrigerators
and the empty promises of jacked up car
salesmen.

So don’t blame me when they say,
“The Earth is no good”
Because sometimes I withdraw.

And the Baby Boomers gotta go
Gotta get out gotta get
Runnin.
Can’t stay here no more
On this planet there ain’t room for the both
of us.