As we, a generation tick tocking from relevance to mere pages in
Some outdated History book in school
March into the digital sunset,
We need to share our despair of living our lives without air.

We were born buried in a screen,
Our smiles an LED gleam,
Portraying some adventurer's dream
Though things weren't what they seemed.

We were automatic,
Our souls on cruise control,
Fed a bottomless hole of information-
Here today, gone tomorrow.
We were hollow, and not a tough act to follow.

We regretfully beg of you...

Put your Face(in a)Book, and Spot-If-You can
The Tinder to spark your mind from the confines of the dark.
(Snap) a twig in the woods and (Chat) with your friends...
Don't be a Twit-Terra is yours.

Reclaim what's already there,
Heirs of Air,
And share what is fair to repair
All we have made rare.