We are the future.
We are the broken down.
We are the messed up.
We are the ones they write songs about.
They write songs about how we don’t know what we are doing.
They write songs about how we are beautiful.
They write songs about how we are a disappointment.
We are the ones who have to figure it all out.
We are the ones who have to fight our way through.
This is all we have left.
Long sentences.
Rhythmic disobedience.
Confused protests.
Every person you meet.
Ever soul you have the pleasure of witnessing in action.
All of it comes together in the chaos that is our
generation.
The failed aspirations and the search for meaning.
The thwarted talents and the smashed dreams.
With every passing day our sound grows from a dull hum to a
fierce roar.
We don’t know what we are doing.
We don’t know where we are going.
We don’t know who we even are.
This is us.
This is one of those inspirational advertisements for jeans.
This is one of those music festivals we attend to lose
ourselves.
This is the weed we smoke and the rum we drink.
We are a culmination of their mistakes.
We are the sum of our experiences.
We are the result of our biology.
These words are just another bunch strung together.
Typed out in the dead of the night on a MacBook Air.
We have substance.
We are shallow.
We are the walking contradictions.
Prepare for the end of the world.
We are the apocalypse.
Tread lightly.
Be warned.
We are the future.
A force to be reckoned with.
A force to disregard.
We are the future.
