Every glamorous act that is underlined,
Every stamp of ink that separates the disenchanted from the fools,
Every god of wine,
Every scribble against the wood of a desk,
Every irritated sigh,
Every whisper of some unknown truth,
They all come stitched and packaged,
In the minds of every adolescent,
In the minds of those who know no boundaries,
Those who believe themselves to be immortal,
And invincible.
Those who run from authority,
With their hands reaching for the fruits of the world,
With their eyes searching for the leeching holes in their hearts,
Finding nothing but questions,
And never any answers.
With their hearts on their sleeves they go forth,
Inviting the cruel intentions of their lovers,
Letting the eternal ticking of the clock fade,
Until old age is only a myth,
And that only the present can save them,
From a future ruled by normality.