Petri dish children run with punctured neon green veins
Raised in focus groups with the touch of a hungry CEO
Who will sell your youth for another car to drive
Built from the dust of a baby boomer cabbage patch
Poked and prodded by the media of a society flamed with consumerism
Where your loosely draped skeleton frame has no more weight than the quarters you tuck in your pockets at weigh ins
Sunken eyes and sideways grins
Little girls are growing up to kiss the bad boys
Tequila soaked, beautiful kisses
Where your idol is a crack ***** beauty queen
Where your every fatal flaw has a rememdy and a price tag
A generation sick with drinks
Plagued by impulse and energy pulsing in tides
With ****** laughs and magnetic orbits
What ever happened to the petri dish children
Built for beauty and style, but left broken and stunning