The lost generation

We are a classical chaos

We dance the dance

Swing the sword

And challenge duels to the newcomer

As a means of power and entertainment 

We drink from the tallest of glasse

Grapes picked straight from the vines

and the servents picked straight out of africa

We are a classical chaos

We write love letters to our admirers

Kiss the foot of the man who constricts

Drives the cars of the latest model

With our drunken childhood in the backseat

Speeding to the beats of the latest tracks

And biting our thumb at those who seem beneath us

We are a classical chaos

The generation that plunges itself deeper

Into a world unknown

And distracted by the latest technological advances

While we unconscously undergo

The evolutionary process

We are a classical chaos

 defined by the in-important

blinded by the sparkle of diamonds

And bound to become a tragedy

We are

Unfinished business