I’m not part of this Dionysean teen-scene.
I don’t want to be another string
Of one night stands.
The revolution rants drunkenly in basements
And smokes itself to death.
It kisses booze soaked babes on Paxil;
It finds its smile in the pill
Until it gets so sad it drinks away everything
And doesn’t come up again.
The youth of America is one girl’s breasts
As she bares her chest for all the boys to see.
The activists fade to actionless chain-smokers,
And the corporate politics take care of the rest.
I tried it once and woke up
Feeling every synapse shut and faded.
You cheered the Zapatistas
And washed it down with tequila
While your friend was pukin’ upstairs.
And I thought,
‘Is this what’s to become of us?’
I’ve seen so much potential fade into
The stained carpet of your living room,
And heard stupid sober boys making noise
About an absence of alcohol.
I walked out without bidding you adieu,
Because I’m not part of this Dionysean teen-scene
Of empty bottles and faded dreams.
