( no excuses) A Plea for empathy.
Born kicking, screaming, Alive !
I came out swinging  in Seventy Five.

Children of the Razor’s Edge

Born in the chaos, forged in the street,
Under spiked banners where anthems replete.
A kingdom of leather, of combat and spit,
Where the outlaws and orphans refused to submit.

The mall queens strutted with poodles on chains,
Their collars as sharp as rebellion’s refrains.
Sculpted blue hair like a neon-lit flame,
Sid Vicious and Johnny
scratched on the frame.
The " great Rock n' Roll swindle "indeed
but out their on the asphalt
we all came  to bleed.


Misunderstood British flags waving,  Clash in the air,
Cindy on screen with a banshee’s glare.
Decks hit the pavement, wheels kissed the stone,
Skate and destroy—this world was our own.

Reagan sat smirking, a puppet, a joke,
While cities lay burning in ****** smoke.
We danced on the ledges, we laughed at the fall,
No rules, no masters, no mercy at all.

The wolves that had raised us had long since been tamed,
Or locked in the cells where the reckless are claimed. ( maimed)
Some found escape in the needle’s embrace,
Others in rage, in or the thrill of the chase.

Now, rare as relics, ghost in s haze,
We limp as survivors of those lawless old days.
Misunderstood, unrepentant, unbowed,
Still screaming our gospel—still howling it loud.
Punks not dead!
But, isn't it though
It WAS how we lived,
it wasn't a show.
None of that really matters now
they end up crushing us anyhow.
Replaced by Diary of  A Wimpy Kid
participation trophies and V chip control
held in their mommies embrace
they do troll.