Angry Young Man Generation

This is an Angry Young Man generation

with a capital "A" after we sold all our angst to the census taker

he counted our summer afternoons with a ruler

measured out childhood dreams in teaspoons

balanced the fact and the fiction and produced a miracle

of counter-counter revolutionary counterculture

that teased and cried and wrung its bloody corpse on the front steps of the White House.

Save me, Jesus! Save me from your followers!

Save me, Washington! Save me from your soldiers!

Save me, mother! Save me from this pill I choke down called the Angry Young Man Generation. It's bitter and big and I don't like its disguised machismo at all.

This is a Generation of Fire.

with a station at every corner, but they can't put out the inferno

in our hearts.

Don't you want me? Don't you need me? Don't you love me?

Just know I'd torch the libraries for you. I'd analyze and victimize so many people

I'd kill myself loving you. But what would I achieve?

You are cold, you are old, you are so bold as to take these tapestries of time

Fold them up, put them in the closet.

You aren't watching when I do the cannonball.

You didn't call to talk. You called for the facts, ma'am.

You took advantage of me, and that's okay because at least I get to touch you.

Save me, Joanna! We loved your fiery hair!

Save me, Mary! He loves the way you move your hips!

Save me, cute girls! Save me from this world where fire lives in young girls eyes and is cut out by over-eager soccer dads with a paunch!

This is a Generation of Predictable Disasters

as the ice caps drown the sinners in Florida, in New York, in Los Angeles

Do you think God is laughing?

He's laughing at you. You slaughtered the animals,

you drove the sports car,

you cut down the trees and burned the rain forests,

You, Generation of the iPod, of the PC, of the Enemy being the Ally.

Generation of the pissed off, pissed-drunk, deadbeat geniuses.

No sympathy exists. We are all rubble in the pre-apocalyptic world.

So beat it against the wall!

Beat it, beat it, beat it!

Spray it's beautiful brain all over the room!

I want to see it die, I want to see it sing!

I want to bounce those complaints off ruined buildings,

Ask my grandmother about the last time she prayed

Oh Jesus, Jesus, stomp it into my skin!

So we can all bear the cross

of an Angry Young Man Generation.