The Youth

The Youth

Little faces

Little dirty faces

Look up towards me

And I don’t quite know what to do

They are a generation of

Overstimulated

Malnutrioned

Hyperactive

Misdiagnosed

Drugged

Forgotten

Abused

Unloved

Little Soldiers

Line em up

Line the soldiers up

For the slaughter

Some sit blankly

Others shrug

Still some others scream

Flip a desk

Beat their chest

Prove they’re real

But they all receive it

Oversimplified as it is

Perverted as it is

This slop

And they eat it

And I feed it to them

Like Macy’s

It’s a spinning door

Got to keep it moving

Pushing them through the glass

Got to keep the circle going

Till it bores a hole in the ground

No one is special

No one is missed

Their faces won’t be remembered

Those little, dirty, little faces