Thriving on constant stimulus shelled out
By the starving hand of a society
Without rituals, inhibitions lost,
Where the only thing sacred is the now.
Vulgarity is sublime, pain is quaint,
And every generation stares breathless
At the next in shocked anticipation
Like dumbfounded asses, they feign surprise.
Hyper vigilance is a profession
Embraced hesitantly, desperately,
To appease industrial gods, icy
With indifference to the average man.
