Maybe because we are the youngs, We believe we are entitled to tongues. That we shall be heard, To you it is absurd. Like the beetle, you roll the dung.
You think us silly children, Yet inside lies the cauldron That shouts the time of the youth. Forsaken by the booth, We begin our costly sojourn.
Our eyes reveal our mind ambitious. Your eyes see through silicasacious Perception of a generation passed. Culture imposed in the manner of caste. I condemn you to be philosophically abstemious
It is directly simple, comrade We have jumped from the time balustrade You a little early, Us, a little burly Yet, it was all meant for a crusade
This is an adage for thinkers To ensure we and you never wear the blinkers. This is my warning, To stay awake until morning Remember that we eventually rest with clinkers.