We bow down to the death of these fine shoresOur generation in search of an aptitude so pureLost for direction and tied in the stateWith hope as a burden not to hold but berateThe love in this epoch will leave us coldNihilism a path to walk whilst sentiment scoldsWe are the lost generation with crippled pride for the crestEvery morning we yearn for reason when we are alone on the west
Alone on the West
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