They say
remember the good old days
But we're so young that we have none
And, if at all, should we belong
It's to a blank generation with no idealism to fall back upon
The taste is so sweet but it slips off the tongue
as if falling this fast could be another race won
But we're already out of time
Already out of breath
About to cross the finish line
With absolutely nothing left
And in every last gasp between
the things they say and the nothing they mean
the air we swallow shall be empty
As we [bad word] to keep their false momentum going
When it's not even a close call, this scramble for the drivers seat,
The steering wheel remains out of reach for those considered to be "beneath"
Look outside and only our eyes will see
For us the road signs are blank - not blurry
We'll never know if this was an opportunity
To go anywhere
To be anything
Or just a question of "why bother?"
Why bother knowing anything?
Except when to admit defeat.