The Pretenders
They walk through the halls of fame
Rich and fat on the brief glimpse of something lost
They squander their creative eloquence
On words that say nothing
That only have meaning in the absence of sense
They wallow in the fact of the self centered
Spinning universe of ideas that change
Only their affluence
Dedications to death
While love tears you apart
The chords of your mantra
Have no panacea to the banal banter
Of the lost generation
Heaven knows where the next flower will grow
Through the cracks of our failure
And in-between the lapse of your consciousness
The pause between the beats of your heart
Still keep us apart
Within the same thought
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