My generation is made of plastic.
Plastic soldiers, plastic cars, plastic shirts and socks.
No blood, no sweat, no tears for us.
No fixed truth or right and wrong,
Only plastic. Because plastic
Doesn't remind us of who we were.
It doesn't stay firm in the face of
Conflict, stand fast in the face of adversity.
It doesn't shine like a torch in the night,
Light with the righteous anger
Of a people pushed too far.
Oh no, plastic is not nearly so
Offensive. It morphs, it moves, it
Molds and accepts each new person,
Each new idea, each new belief or fact.
The traitorous bastard.
My generation is made of plastic.
