I know a boy, a little boy.
Who stays up till late.
Its two A.M. now.
And he’s still awake.
I know a girl, a little girl.
Who stays up till late.
Its two A.M. now.
And she’s still texting her mate.
A silent night, a holy night, temple of the dog.
A halogen light, a petty fight, chariot of the gods.
A round cup, a white cup, with love from the defector.
A powdery mass, some green grass, and god’s own black nectar.
We are the children of the nocturnal generation.
The psychotic products of total frustration.
We fuck sleep and stay up till late.
It is two A.M. now, and we’re wide awake.
All the black powder in that cup-
Is enough to keep you up-
Through the night and till dawn.
My generation is always on.
Rhombohedral depression of the Nocturnal Generation.
At this hour.
A cup from the defector containing that black nectar,
Which tastes sour.
All the insomnia that we gain-
Is essential to drown our pain.
Always we have the freedom to choose.
But my generation is always confused.
The Beautifully Grotesque 
Our generation is a walking paradox. We know it all, we know nothing. we have it all, we have nothing.
To quote Fight Club ” our war is a spiritual war, our great depression is our lives”
Yes.
‘We are a generation without weight in history. No purpose or place.’
We’re the all singing, all dancing crap of the world.
With no great war and no great depression.
It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything.