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We were told we could be anything, we were a generation of rising gods, rock stars and CEOs. Our teachers showered us with leaflets scribbled with scorn and rejection, stuffed our mouths and our heads and our hearts full of paper-rock-scissors and we all know - you only have three choices, give up, grow up, go crazy, [and I want something else.]
Well we're left with these burned up ashes, cinders on the wind, and with gravel in our mouths and we'll spit out pebbles and say, "Look what we have made, look on our works, ye mighty, and despair-..." - because that is what we are told. Old Mrs. What's-her-fuck knew it, she tried to say, "not for everyone, not for everyone, not for everyone, this way." Well, it's not for me, and I know it now, serves me right for trying to fit my hexagonal edges in a square space, with yards and yards of cube-farms dividing us all.
Rock-paper-scissors, well, all the sharp edges are being taken off the world, and we're given blades that can't cut us, we're being gagged down so we can't scream and oh god, they'll take our organs and put learning and books and paper and training and paychecks and stipends and benefits in their places, they'll say, "Look! Look, we're taking care of them, they'll be taken care of..." Oh, but we're just paper dolls, answering phones, taking orders, flipping burgers, punching numbers, biding time... and before we know it we'll just be straw men, the hollow men, the stuffed men, we will be empty shells, we will be hollow with empty cores.
Like the Texas Ranger who screamed at me for thirty minutes on the phone tonight, who said, "Why is the world falling apart around us? Because we are letting it, and there's something wrong and it's up to your generation to fix it...", and before we know it, it'll be socialized healthcare and citizen's police and censorship and government-controlled economy, and before we know it, we'll be facedown in the dirt with the weapons they've pulled out of our own hands at the backs of our heads, and they'll say, any last words?
but like this place, like this claustrophobic, whitewashed place, they won't listen, they'll just fill our mouths with gravel and politically correct lies and excuses to tell the people, oh, we're working on it as we speak, up in the rain, on those high-distant towers, we're working on it...
We shall not prevail again.
Well we're left with these burned up ashes, cinders on the wind, and with gravel in our mouths and we'll spit out pebbles and say, "Look what we have made, look on our works, ye mighty, and despair-..." - because that is what we are told. Old Mrs. What's-her-fuck knew it, she tried to say, "not for everyone, not for everyone, not for everyone, this way." Well, it's not for me, and I know it now, serves me right for trying to fit my hexagonal edges in a square space, with yards and yards of cube-farms dividing us all.
Rock-paper-scissors, well, all the sharp edges are being taken off the world, and we're given blades that can't cut us, we're being gagged down so we can't scream and oh god, they'll take our organs and put learning and books and paper and training and paychecks and stipends and benefits in their places, they'll say, "Look! Look, we're taking care of them, they'll be taken care of..." Oh, but we're just paper dolls, answering phones, taking orders, flipping burgers, punching numbers, biding time... and before we know it we'll just be straw men, the hollow men, the stuffed men, we will be empty shells, we will be hollow with empty cores.
Like the Texas Ranger who screamed at me for thirty minutes on the phone tonight, who said, "Why is the world falling apart around us? Because we are letting it, and there's something wrong and it's up to your generation to fix it...", and before we know it, it'll be socialized healthcare and citizen's police and censorship and government-controlled economy, and before we know it, we'll be facedown in the dirt with the weapons they've pulled out of our own hands at the backs of our heads, and they'll say, any last words?
but like this place, like this claustrophobic, whitewashed place, they won't listen, they'll just fill our mouths with gravel and politically correct lies and excuses to tell the people, oh, we're working on it as we speak, up in the rain, on those high-distant towers, we're working on it...
We shall not prevail again.