We were young, and the lights were out,
Spinning rooms and turning heads.
The last great generation—blooded hearts,
Passions born not of screen, but skin.
We longed, we loved, we lived—
Lifted to the highest plane,
With music and flesh as our true witness.
Those times were more than murmured whispers—
We were real, we were true,
Visceral tombs to the last great time for all.

Tom LeFort 2025