you've defiled all that I held sacred,
made my beliefs your off-hand mottoes,
stolen my rebellion,
processed it,
turned it into bricks
with which to build your temple
to a twisted idol.
you call it Youth,
but it's just another word for money.
now you claim
that what you've done
is what I want.
I think not.
laugh now.
but what will happen
if your restless green-backed cattle
are woken up?
July '01
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