Between the war and apocalypse, a crowd of us doesn't fit, standing here with
hands on hips in a ditch by the super-highway.
Terrorists on a tourist trip, the pacifist bomb squad blown to bits, i'm wondering
what makes me tick and I feel foolish singing My Way.
Generation Y with a jaundiced eye, I don't know what I'm doing here, motivate
and make us grow, let it go and watch us die, Generation Y with a wounded eye
In a post-modern shed on the edge of town the work force rallies with a weary
frown all they want to do is burn it down sick of this and a week to payday,
taking orders from a sacred cow a revolution with an empty round, Jesus Christ
wouldn't draw a crowd, I slept like a pig through Mayday
This world makes me feel undressed, encourages me to get depressed, drugs me
up until I'm powerless, steals the wheel I was holding onto, offers something
that I can't resist between a clenched fist and a kiss like a smokescreen in
the mist three jeers 'cause I belong to...
Generation Y with a lazy eye. Ask Generation Y, you'll get no reply.
© TV Smith