too sweet, too sweet.

got to get out.
this generation

-painful, painful;

fury like a hornet's sting

quick to point; and fling

-impulsive adolescence

hides its face behind an orgy of

misplaced hormones

dance, dance

till the sweat of your pits

turns to drunk fits

and the nausea swirls up, up

from the deepness of your being

which you question

from the very

beginning.

get out, get out.

wake up, wash up.

- begin again.

everything.

it is time.

we have waited,

we have yearned;

purposeful freedom duly earned.

smiling we thought we had it all,

yet realise there's time to learn.

- everything has it's due turn.

the littlest task should never refute its call.

for all that

pistol of passion fires

in our unborn desires,

(they creep across the white,

in our cubby hole they hide);

we cannot lie-

or pretentiously deny-

the weight of each moment,

the essence of each laugh,

the pang of nostalgia

the languor of hysteria.

do not brush these aside,

everything has its due turn.

for as long as we create our pride;

you prepare-

purposeful freedom.